Page 10 of Falling Madly
He wedged his fingers under his legs, grinning. “What? Lumberjacks can’t have oiled cuticles?”
“Not unless it’s motor oil.”
He revealed his hand, studying his short and rough nails. “Well. Good thing I’ve never tried a manicure. They sell a nice beard oil, though.” He brushed a hand over his dark facial hair and grinned.
Our hands were no longer touching, but he shifted slightly, and our elbows made contact. My skin tingled and I held still, not wanting to break the connection.
He chuckled. “You know what, Teresa?”
“What?”
He turned to look me in the eye and the laughter fizzled away. The air vibrated between us. “I lied. I could work from home most of the time. George is a dick, but he’s not a dick about attendance. He’d much rather keep all humans out of the office and deal with machines. So, I could buy a cabin in the mountains and commute once a week. But I haven’t…” He held my gaze. “Because then I wouldn’t get to see you.”
I swallowed, waiting for the punchline. This was Trevor. The one with all the jokes and the loudest laugh. But he wasn’t joking.
“You wouldn’t get to seeme?” I repeated, searching his eyes for a clue. Was he serious? Was this the moment I’d been waiting for when we finally talked about this thing between us? When we finally admitted there was something more than harmless flirting going on?
His voice was low and warm. “Seeing you is the best part of my day.”
“Because my freak-outs are so entertaining?”
Last week, he’d witnessed me running my head under the faucet to cool off after a client who’d asked to see twenty-eight iterations reverted to version one.
Trevor ignored my deflection, looking at me in a way that woke up every nerve in my gut. They vibrated like someone was plucking a mandolin down there.
In the privacy of my bedroom, I’d imagined this moment, and sometimes a little further. I’d imagined him cornering me in the office, late at night, and each of us confessing to what wasreally going on in our minds. Giving in to passion that replaced the need for words and cut through all the uncertainty.
I’d been ready to take that first step. Maybe tonight. Maybe here. But I’d never imagined his words quite like this—subtle and vulnerable. I felt off kilter. The only part of his body touching mine was that elbow, his hands now wedged under his thighs like he was trying to keep them from misbehaving. “Everything about you is fascinating,” he said.
My breath turned ragged, but I tried to smile. “You don’t think I’m scary?”
He shook his head. “I’m not easily scared. Also, I’m not looking for a subservient woman.”
“So, you’re looking for a challenge?” I’d been that to some. A mountain to climb. A bet to win. I shuddered.
“You’re not a challenge. More like a… mystery. I like mysteries.”
My shoulders dropped a little and the bubbly feeling in my center returned. “Do you think I’m hiding something?”
“Everyone’s hiding something. To be honest, I think most people are mysteries, but you’re the best kind of mystery.”
“Bestkind?” I chuckled, thoroughly entertained by his musings.
“Aye. The kind of mystery that raises juicy questions on the first page, so you must keep turning the pages.”
“What kind of juicy questions?”
He tilted his head. “Why do ye work so hard? Why do you pitch ideas for campaigns that you aren’t assigned to? I mean, they’re great ideas, but most people wouldn’t have the interest or capacity. So, why?”
My body clenched. “If I have an idea, why wouldn’t I share it?”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s the thing. Ye don’t randomly get ideas for other people’s jobs unless you think about them. So, why do you think about them?”
My cheeks heated and I turned away from him. I’d always tried to do it in a casual way, saying something like, “Hey, I saw you guys are working on that cheesecake campaign and I had a thought…” But it was true. I browsed the job board, read all the briefs, and dreamed of being assigned to the higher profile, challenging jobs. And when I wasn’t, I inserted myself. It felt better than being completely on the outside, even if they just grabbed my ideas and took credit for them. Which happened regularly.
Trevor’s voice was gentle. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I can tell you’re bored and need challenges. And your ideas are brilliant.”
“But…” I helped him out, sensing the word on his tongue.
