Page 23 of My Only

The first time we talked couldn’t be over the phone.

Not after how things were left last night.

“You look so tense.”

Harper’s voice snapped me back to the now.

I exhaled sharply, blinking.

She scooted to the edge of her seat, smoothing her hands down the barely-there wrinkles in her pencil skirt.

Then, before I could register her next move, she stood. Rounded my desk. Approaching me.

My lips parted to say something, but then she touched me.

Hands on my shoulders.

I stiffened, instantly. Because on impact, it wasn’t just a touch. Not the casual, neutral lay of hands on a co-worker’s shoulder.

It was a caress.

Soft. Slow. Intimate.

I barely registered her fingers trailing along my shoulder blades, because my eyes shot past her to my team.

The people moving through the office.

Too caught up in their work, their conversations to notice.

Harper’s touch lingered.

Heat radiated where her fingertips brushed against me.

And it was impossible to ignore how inappropriate this was.

How invasive.

How fucking bold.

Too bold.

I grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

“I’m good.”

My voice came out clipped.

Firm.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at her over my shoulder.

“Thanks, Harper.”

Just then, my glass office door swung open, drawing my attention that way.

Our landscape architect, Levi Weston, stood at the threshold.

His eyes bounced between me and Harper.

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