Page 46 of For the Plot
“Maybe you should have told Leann she shouldn’t leave the code scrawled on company property,” I reply.
“You checked?”
“I told you. I’m nosy.”
A beat passes. “That’s dangerous. I believe there’s a phrase about that, curiosity killing the cat?”
I finally turn. He’s shed the jacket again. Open collar. Casual, except nothing about him ever feels casual. He’s a storm with all of the warning signs and alarms going off and I’m the idiot standing on the rooftop, begging for lightning.
“I thought you left,” I say.
“I did. Then I saw you walk out.”
I tilt my head. “So you followed me?”
He doesn’t deny it. Just shrugs one shoulder, eyes never leaving mine.
“I needed air,” I say.
“Is that what you call fleeing the scene?”
“I wasn’t fleeing and besides, you walked out of the kitchen before me.”
“You turned white as a sheet.”
“Wouldn’t you if your boss repeated the wordsdaddy issuesback to you in a break room?”
He chuckles. Low. Rough. “Probably.”
I cross my arms. “So what, you’re here to make fun of me some more?”
“No.” He takes a step closer.
“Then why are you here?” I ask, voice quieter now. “Really.”
His eyes flick over my face. “Because I needed to see your expression when I said this.”
Before I can ask what, he steps in, closing the distance between us with devastating precision. He raises one hand, letting it hover near my jaw. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the heat of him. But he doesn’t touch me.
Instead, his fingers curl into a fist. He drags that hand back down, not to me—but into his pocket. The other he plants flat on the stone ledge behind me, like he’s anchoring himself. Like if he moves even an inch closer, he’ll snap. His voice is quiet, dark, lethal.
“You’re young and beautiful, Skye. Men fall at your feet without even trying. You’ve got half the damn office tripping over themselves to make you laugh. To catch a glimpse of you.” His gaze sweeps over my face, down to my mouth, then back up.
“But a man like me?” he says, his eyes darkening. “I’m not the one you should be trying to tempt.”
My breath catches in my throat for a second. “What kind of man areyou, Mr. Blackwood?”
“I’m the kind of man who knows damn well he shouldn’t fantasize about defiling his son’s ex-girlfriend.” The air vanishes between us. His tone drops to a lower octave that practically sings to my lady parts.
“But it doesn’t stop me from picturing you on your knees with your lips stretched wide and tears running down your cheeks while I fuck the brat right out of your smart mouth.”
My breath stutters, my thighs clenching automatically. He’s close. So close. But not touching. Like he wants me to feel just how much restraint it’s taking.
“And the worst part?” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even feel guilty about it anymore.”
I swallow, the air thick, then I glance down at his hand that’s still shoved in his pocket, still not on me. I find my voice again, hoarse and shaking as my pulse slams into overdrive.
“Why won’t you touch me? What are you so afraid of?” I whisper.
