Page 43 of My Office Rival

I collapsed against her, holding her against the counter, as all the adrenaline fled. Her heart fluttered under mine, the soft material of her lace-edged tank rubbing against my bare chest. Her hand crept up to push me back but stilled, her fingers a brand against my skin. I closed my eyes against the scent and feel of her.

“Sorry. I’m a light sleeper, and I thought you were an intruder.”

“So you were going to brain me with a candlestick? I was looking for Advil.”

I huffed a laugh. “Sorry. Just give me a second.”

She shifted against me. The silk of her tiny shorts rubbed over my briefs.Oh no. Another one of those lacy sets.It whispered over my thighs and I swallowed a groan.

“Cynthia,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Please stop moving.”

“Why?” she asked. “Oh.” She froze, even as my erection grew against her stomach. I opened my eyes to see her biting her lip, and I promptly shut mine again.

“Yes. Oh. I just need a minute.”

She wiggled a little, and I bit back a moan, my shoulders shuddering. When I was brave enough to open my eyes, they arrowed to where the strap of her tank top had fallen, exposing one smooth shoulder. I traced over it with my gaze. She was so soft there, right where the hollow of her neck met her shoulder. She smelled so good.That little divot was perfect for a gentle bite. I looped one finger under the silk strap and slowly lifted it back up, mesmerized by the satiny feel of her skin against my fingers, even softer than the silk material. The barest brush of my finger against her shoulder made her inhale sharply, those deep brown eyes already a little hazy.

She wants this.My blood felt thick, my head stuffed full of wool.Kiss her.

“Cynthia, I can’t re—” The words died as I dipped my head to hers and she tipped her chin up to meet me. The movement brought our faces so close, the air pulsing between us, until just one tiny movement had her plush lips meeting mine. Her soft sigh into my mouth waseverything.Fuck yes.I captured her mouth, kissing her deeply, wanting more, more, more. She tasted delicious, just like I’d remembered. She responded to me with soft, drugging sips, just like I remembered.

“Hell yes,” she muttered between kisses, and the words lit me on fire. I speared my hands into her hair and deepened the kiss, angling her head so I could delve my tongue into her mouth. She arched up against me in response. Every press of her hands on my chest urged me on, every sound she made went straight to my groin.Fuck, she’s hot.Fuck, this was really good. That one night hadn’t been a fluke. If anything, this was better. My hands on her hips shoved her against the counter, and she groaned. “Yes, Jason, yes.” Her words were breathy, needy.

I slipped seeking fingers under the straps of her tank and pulled them down. The silky material pooled around her waist, exposing those lovely breasts to the moonlight and my mouth. I pulled one nipple into my mouth, and she cried out.She loves this.My hand came up to cup the other, testing the weight, teasing that soft skin. She bucked against my hand and I tightened my hold. She moaned and triumph lit through me.

“You like that?” I pressed my thumb into her hip. “You want it rough?”

“Yes, yes.” Little sounds fell from her throat, and I lifted my head to kiss her again. Kissing her was like lighting myself on fire. Eachslip of her tongue stoked the flames higher. Each greedy sound made me want to give in, to let her take the reins.You can’t.I used punishing hands and rough movements when I wanted to sink to my knees, to touch her only when she allowed it.Stop, before you do something stupid.I jerked back.

Cynthia raised two shaking fingers to her swollen lips. “Holy shit,” she breathed. Her eyes were wide, her mouth parted in surprise. I would have laughed if it weren’t so utterly insane.

“I know, I know.” I braced myself against the counter, shaking with need.This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

“Guess that first night wasn’t just the vodka working its magic,” she murmured.

“Guess not.”Fuck.

26

JASON

Cynthia was avoiding me. And if I were honest with myself, I was avoiding her too. Last night in the kitchen had been arevelation. She wanted me and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I was currently at the diner, having a late afternoon coffee after my run. I was browsing through the local paper and idly listening to the two men behind me catch up over a late lunch. They had the twang of locals and had mostly been chatting about crop yields and how business was doing at the fair.

My ears pricked when I heard my client’s name.

“One of her boys got in trouble last week,” said a man with a gravelly voice. He spoke with the confidence of a local in the know.

“One of those idiots is always getting in trouble. Each is dumber and meaner than an enraged bull,” man number two snarked.

Gravelly voiced man spoke again, this time in hushed tones. “Yeah, but this time he hurt someone.” I started, nearly spilling my coffee.

“Don’t be bringing that trouble round here. I want no part of the nonsense that happens over at the compound.” Snarky soundedserious now, and he said the word “compound,” like it was a proper noun.

The two men moved on to discussing the upcoming storm that was due to sweep through the area, and I stayed until well after they left. There could be a totally innocent explanation for everything they were saying, but Mr. and Mrs. Harris didn’t have any sons, only daughters, as far as I knew. So the “boys” they were talking about were more likely employees. This was really weird. My skin prickled. I was intimately familiar with small-town dealings and the rotten core that could run through a seemingly normal place. I moved through the world with one eye trained on my surroundings, and every animal sense told me something was up.

I let my head fall back onto the booth. I desperately wanted these issues to go away, or even to become more concrete. Anything was better than this murky in between. But I had nothing. Just a hunch, some inkling that the financials were hiding information, and hearsay about some of their employees hurting someone. Mitchell and Nisha would not take kindly to me bringing this to their doorstep. I needed concrete evidence before I said anything, or I would be fired for blowing up a multi-multimillion-dollar deal. Just thinking the wordfiredmade my entire body tense. Over the past almost decade, I had saved and saved, until I was a millionaire. But it wasn’t enough, maybe would never be enough. On bad days, I checked the balance in my brokerage account to soothe myself. Yes, it was fucked up and my old therapist probably wouldn’t have approved. I wouldn’t be able to stop the spiraling worry over my future and my security until I had my own firm, my own clients, and my name on the door. No one would be able to fire me. That was the ultimate goal. And I was so fucking close. Just one more deal and I’d be able to secure an office space. I would be untouchable and finally able to relax.

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