“I want to talk to you about the other day.” He sounds so serious.
All of a sudden, the weight of my mistake crashes down. “Are you firing me?” I blurt out.
His jaw drops. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and the wild anxieties consume me once more. “I love this job, and I love working with Hayden, and I didn’t mean to jeopardize it by . . .”
By making out with you? By touching you? By murmuring your name when you kissed me senseless in the cab, and would you please just do it again?
He steps closer. My stomach makes like a skydiver.
“You did not jeopardize a thing. I’m not firing you. I promise.” His blue eyes are locked to mine. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. And I hope I didn’t lose you, either. You’re so good at what you do, and I value your skills so much. You’re great with Hayden, and I don’t want to mess that up. I’m sorry for crossing the line.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I crossed it, too.”
He licks his lips. “And I really appreciated you inviting me out with your friends. I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to mess up your night. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
A grin threatens to take over my face because my heart soars. I thought he was turning me down. Instead, he was thinking of me. “You wouldn’t have messed it up.”
“I wouldn’t have?”
“No.” I latch onto Harper’s advice. Talk to him. “I wanted you there.”
My breath comes fast, and the hairs on my arms stand on end. We’re so near to each other—our words, our voices, our bodies. Everything in me reaches for him.
“I’m glad,” he whispers.
“And you don’t make me uncomfortable. I promise.”
He doesn’t say anything in response. Just nods. I press my teeth into my lips. My back is against the sink, and he’s standing so close I can smell him. The faint scent of his soap intoxicates me. He must have gone to the gym after work and taken a shower, and oh God, now I’m imagining him naked in the shower, soaping up his strong body. I go up in flames.
“What happened in the cab was”—he pauses, as if he’s searching for the right word—“crazy.” But the way he says it in a voice full of longing doesn’t sound like crazy-bad. It sounds like . . .
“Crazy-good,” I supply.
He nods. “So good,” he whispers, and inches closer.
“It was so good,” I echo, my voice breathy, full of this potent need for him.
He stares at me, his eyes brimming with heat. I exhale, and my lips part slightly. He’s looking at my mouth now, and I’m burning all over.
His hands are in my hair, and his lips crush mine. My fingers race up his shirt and around his neck. I pull him against me, his strong, hard body aligned with mine. His erection presses against my belly, and the realization that he’s already hard thrills me. Sparks fly through me as I register how hard he is, and my God, I want him. I want to feel him slide into me, I want to take him deep into my body. I want him to know what he does to me, too—that I’m as turned on as he is, and I can’t stop kissing him.
His big hands curl around my head, and I moan into his mouth. I love how much bigger he is than I am—taller, broader, stronger. He meets every primal desire I have to be taken. I want this man to consume me. I want to be under him, I want to be pinned by him—I want the full weight of him moving over me.
His lips are demanding, coaxing out more and more kisses from me. More murmurs, more sighs. As I arch into him, he groans, rough and husky.
Then, he breaks the kiss.
“This is bad,” he says firmly, his breath coming heavily. But then, he’s not so certain at all. “Is this bad?”
“Yes,” I answer quickly. “It’s bad. But it’s so good.”