by S. Layne
“God.” I can’t even look at him. His words shake my already trembling unease as I sit before him, explaining myself. “You can’t say that stuff to me if I’m going to continue working here.”
“Are you?” he asks. I hear the plea in his voice, the softening of his tone, and I can’t help but raise my eyes to meet his.
For an instant, his cobalt eyes soften before he blinks and appraises me coolly.
“I am.” I stand up, needing to leave the room. Every time I look at him I feel a heat swirling between us—an attraction that can’t be explained. And can’t be acted on.
“I believe in what we do here. I can guarantee that I will stay through the rollout for the Cell to ensure there are no further delays. I was with Anne from the beginning on this, and while she trusts you…I still need to know it will do what we’ve always wanted.”
His lips curl as if I’ve amused him. I assume he’s not used to being doubted. And while I may not doubt him, with everything else crumbling around me, I can maintain some sort of control on a product that will save lives. I want to see that through.
“Very well.” He nods, and I begin exiting the room, only stopping when he calls my name. It rolls over me and my feet falter. My hand reaches out to grab onto the door before I fall.
Straightening my back, I focus on the desk in front of me, too afraid to look at the man behind me. Already I can feel a rolling heat from him that begins pulsing against my skin.
The chemistry between us is palpable.
“What?” I ask, my voice hoarse and dry. The air has become so thick I can barely breathe, even as I try to ignore it.
“I never should have come to your room.”
I fight off a cringe. His words are thick with remorse.
Inhaling harshly, I close my eyes and brace myself. They hurt, those words. I will never forget that night. I don’t know if I want to forget that night.
Doesn’t mean he isn’t right, though, too.
I look at him over my shoulder and my eyes cool. “I never should have gone to you at all.” I’m shocked by the edge of steel in my own voice.
Liam sucks in a breath through his teeth and his lips curve into a snarl as if I’ve slapped him.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Parker.”
I maintain my rigid posture and leave the room, pausing only by my desk to grab hold of my purse and walk away.
It’s not until I inhale the warm summer air outside that I’m finally able to gasp, breathing deep for possibly the first time all day.
The thought of dinner with Talia makes me want to vomit, knowing I won’t be able to eat. Yet I need to unload everything and she’ll provide the shoulder to lean on. She’s good at that.
Walking into Sal’s, a locally owned restaurant older than my parents, I instantly feel a calming presence.
It could be the gentle Italian music filtering through the speakers, or the aroma of his homemade sauces lingering in the air.
Most likely it’s the way Sal himself greets me at the door. The man is shorter than me with a round potbelly that jiggles when he laughs. His hair has gone gray but even with all of that, he’s still an attractive old man.
“Welcome, mia bella.”
“Good evening, Sal.” I flush under his praise—calling me beautiful—and sink into his arms, bending down as he wraps them around me. “How are you?”
“Business is good.” He smiles. Sal always smiles. I want to know his secret. “And you are good?”
I’m shit. I shake my head and fake a smile. “I’ve been better, to be honest.”
“Oh, well, then you must try tonight’s special. Veal Parmigiana will always put a smile on a beautiful woman’s face.”
I laugh despite myself and allow him to usher me to a table before sliding into it.
“Is your gentleman joining you tonight?”
“No.” My cheeks twitch from the fake smile plastered on my face. “My friend Talia is coming.”
“Ahh.” He grins wide. “Two beautiful women. Even better. I will bring you wine.”
I bite back a request for the entire bottle and nod as he scampers away. He stops at every table on the way to the back, shaking hands and doling out hugs. I’ve been coming to Sal’s since James and I first moved into our house over five years ago.
Pain laces through me as I look around the restaurant, remembering the celebrations we’ve had here.
Birthdays, anniversaries, promotions—we’ve come here for everything.
I’m wiping away tears when the waiter, who I recognize but don’t know, returns with two glasses of Merlot.
I give him a weak smile before tipping the glass to my lips.
“Hey, you,” Talia says, arriving with the grace she always carries. She’s beautiful, with her long blonde hair that falls in elegant curls down her back. Her blue eyes are pinched tight with concern when she bends over and kisses my cheek. “How are you?”
My chin wobbles and I look away.
I don’t have to speak for her to know; my grief is written all over my face and in the tear tracks down my cheeks.
“Okay.” She slides into the booth across from me and fingers her wine glass. “So, I’m taking it you’ve had a hard week.”
I laugh coldly. “I’ve mucked up everything, Talia.” I sniff back more tears, not allowing them to fall. “James…Liam…my job. Everything is screwed up.”
She reaches across the table and covers her hand in mine. “Where do you want to begin tonight?”
God, I love her. Her compassion for people who are hurting is one of things that has always drawn me to her. It’s probably what makes her such an excellent counselor for at-risk teens. She runs a youth center in Grand Rapids where teens stay when they can’t find places on the streets. She also provides counseling, and basic things like helping them with homework. She helps place kids in foster homes and provides others with hot meals. And lucky me, I get her experience in helping people for the cost of dinner.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks as he returns to our table. He’s young—probably just out of high school. He also looks uncomfortable as he sees my sad smile.
A laugh bubbles out of my chest as I realize I’ve probably scared him. Just what the kid needs: an irrational, emotional woman drinking in his serving section.
“I’ll have the special,” I say and nod toward Talia. We’ve been here enough that we don’t need the menus on the table. She always orders the same portobello ravioli, anyway.
Orders placed, the young man leaves us alone and I inhale a deep breath.
“James,” I say, answering her earlier question. “I told him I want a divorce, and he moved out on Sunday.”
I close my eyes and can see the anguish in his eyes when I told him. I hate that.
“Wow, okay,” she says, pulling the words and making them longer than necessary. “That’s a shock.”
“I know.” I take another healthy swig of my Merlot and fidget with the stem of the glass, twisting and turning it on the blood-red coaster.
It reminds me of lace and lingerie. Liam’s touches and his kisses.
A shudder rolls through my body and I blink.
“I slept with that guy I told you about.”
She chokes on her wine but manages to swallow it. Her fingers cover her mouth and I almost smile as her eyes widen. “I didn’t think you’d do it.” She leans forward and whispers, “How was it?”
Incredible. Mind-blowing. Life-altering in the worst of ways.
I swallow the thickness in my throat, trying to find the words before I realize nothing can describe it. “Then I found out Friday that he’s my new boss.”
“What?” She gasps and leans in.
“Yeah.” Tears burn my eyes and I no longer care about brushing them away. As the waiter returns and delivers our salad and fresh breadsticks, I tell Talia everything.
Sal stops by and refills our wine glasses. Seeing the tears on my cheeks, he silently brushes a hand on my shoulder
and then sets the bottle on the table.
It earns a choked laugh from me and a gleeful look from Talia. It’s the first happy expression she’s given since I began the entire sordid story.
“What’s worse,” I tell her, after finishing my meal and pushing it away—I’ve eaten three bites even though it’s melt-in-your-mouth delicious like all of Sal’s meals, “is that I don’t regret it.”
Talia’s head tilts to the side and she sucks on the corner of her bottom lip. Her blue eyes are soft and sad and I know she’s put on her counselor hat just for me.
Yippee.
A shrink at my disposal. Just what I’ve always wanted.
“Being with Liam was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about him, even though I know it’s wrong. I would have never considered being with him if I wasn’t so upset about James, you know?”
“I know.” She nods confidently. At least my friend doesn’t think I’m a whore. But it’s true. I would have never been unfaithful. I’d never even looked at another man before I ran into Liam, and if I hadn’t been reeling from James and his betrayal, I never would have acted on it.
It’s not me.
“I have no idea what’s going to happen,” I admit quietly when the waiter comes and takes my plate. I ask for a to-go container, and he leaves, sliding the check onto the table.
I open the black folder to slide in my credit card and laugh, shocked at what I see scrawled across the blank piece of paper in Sal’s masculine scratches.
The veal seemed to fail in its magical powers of producing a smile.
Your meal is on me.
Take care, mia bella.
May your heart smile soon.
“Well,” she says, and leans back in the booth. “Maybe we should eat out more often.”
I spear her with a glance. “Shut up.”
But I’m smiling and it feels good.
I have no idea what’s going to happen in the future, but Talia’s kindness and humor are exactly what I need tonight.
“I’m sorry for avoiding you this weekend. I just needed the time.”
“To sort through the most apocalyptic triple-shitstorm I’ve ever heard of in my entire life?” She waves her hand in the air. “I can’t imagine why you would do that.”
I laugh easily, sinking back into my booth and finishing my wine.
Finally, we spend the next hour drinking the rest of the bottle Sal delivered and chatting like friends.
Before we part on the sidewalk, heading in different directions to our cars, Talia grabs me and wraps her arms around my waist.
“I love you, Laurie. Be good to yourself, and I’m here as you figure out the rest.”
“Thank you.”
I kiss her cheek and walk away, knowing I won’t find answers to anything certain anytime soon.
But she’s given me the confidence to hope that I might actually be able to put Liam behind me, continue working with him, and not let it ruin me.
My hands grip his shoulders, clawing at his shirt as I try to push it off his skin. I want my hands on him. It happens so rarely, but right now he’s too distracted by his own intense reaction.
“Get these off,” he growls, and rips the button off my black dress pants.
“Hurry.” I’m frantic. My fingers curl into the space of his shirt between his buttons and I pull my hands apart, tearing the threads and ripping it open. Buttons pop off and bounce onto the floor.
He stops pushing my pants off my hips and flashes me a wry grin. “That was a nice shirt.”
“It was in my way.” My head falls back against the wall. I’m breathless. Completely undone for this man in front of me.
It was supposed to be sex, but it’s turning into more—even if I don’t admit it out loud. I know he doesn’t feel the same way, but I haven’t been able to stop myself from falling for him.
“Then let’s speed things up. I’m not sure I can handle you ruining any more of my clothes.”
With quick hands he has my pants pushed down to my feet, my black satin underwear following. I step out of them, unsteady on my red heels when his lips fall to my breasts.
He sucks a nipple into his mouth, and the sensations of his scruff along my sensitive skin and the warmth from his tongue shoot straight to my pulsing sex.
“Yes,” I whimper, my hands flying to his hair. I grip his head, holding him to me when his hands drop to my hips.
“Condom.” He gasps and pulls away.
My hand drops to his back pocket and I reach for his billfold. Opening it, I take out the wrapper and rip it open with my teeth.
“God, you’re sexy when you can’t wait anymore.”
I spit out the foil and wrap my hand around his thick erection in front of me. It jumps in my palm and I squeeze my fingers around it. I love the feel of him. He’s heavy and hot in my hand, and as I roll the condom down his length, I wish I had waited.
I want to taste him—suck him until he’s losing his mind like he always does to me.
Next time.
I smile when his hands hit the wall by my head as my fingers drop to his balls. I massage them, loving the sounds falling from his lips, and my legs start shaking.
He undoes me.
All the time.
It only takes a touch and I lose all sense of control around this man.
“Liam.” His name is a whisper rolling off my lips. I look into his needy eyes, knowing he sees the same thing in mine.
“Let go.”
My hand falls from him and his own hands move to my waist. With a quick lift he has me up against the wall, and my legs wrap around his back.
“Dig those heels in, wild one.” His lips fall to the crook of my neck and one of his hands leaves my waist until he slowly begins to thread himself inside me. “Let me feel what I do to you.”
And then we begin our dance.
It’s wild.
It’s frantic.
It’s more than I ever dreamed it could be, and when he finally brings me to the edge and pushes me over, my heels dig into his skin, scratching him. My nails claw at his skin, marking him.
My back is burned from the roughness of the wall and I can’t speak.
His hand brushes my hair away from my cheeks and his lips brush against me.
“Wild one. You’re killing me.”
I awake with a gasp. My heart flutters madly against my chest.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I collapse back into my bed and heave a sigh.
I have had dreams of Liam every single night, and they have to stop or I’m going to lose my mind.
I should win an Academy Award for my acting abilities. If there is ever an awards ceremony for women who dream about their bosses at night but don’t act like it during the day, I’m a guaranteed winner.
Every morning I wake up, sweat lining my brow and my shirt sticking to my back. My breath heaves in quick, panting gasps while memories of Liam taking me over and over again flood my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
Wanting him.
And then I get dressed and go to work, sitting mere feet from him or in his office while I try not to fidget under his heady gaze that says he knows…but we don’t speak of it.
Ever.
I’m so thankful when Friday rolls around and I know I will leave the office and be free from Liam Parker and his sultry looks and his seductive voice for a full forty-eight hours.
I haven’t breathed calmly all week.
Only four more hours and the workday is done.
I smile at Sheila as I pass by her on my way back to my desk after lunch.
“You have a delivery,” she says in a sing-song voice. Her eyes twinkle. “Makes me wonder what James has done wrong or what he’s planning on doing.”
“What?”
Sheila shrugs and leans against our main receptionist’s desk in the lobby of our building. As always, her blonde hair is impeccably done along with her makeup and lipstick. She looks like she should be posin
g on the cover of a fashion magazine. If she wasn’t so kind, I’d want to hate her.
“Your delivery. You’ll see.”
She shrugs, and I frown while I keep walking toward the elevator banks that will take me to our floor.
She has me intrigued and uncertain by the time the bell chimes, and I say my excuse-mes to the people blocking my exit.
I haven’t seen or heard from James since he left on Sunday.
Some nights I sit alone in our quiet, dark house and wish I would have asked him to stay. That I would have taken more time to appreciate his generous gift when I returned from Chicago last weekend.
Maybe we could work things out.
But then I go to sleep and dream of Liam, and I know James and I can’t—at least not while I’m constantly fantasizing about a man I work with every day.
It makes me no different from James and Becky.
My footsteps falter as I turn a corner and see my desk.
On the shelf that’s the perfect height for someone to rest their elbows on while speaking to me, is a gorgeous and generously sized bouquet of gerbera daisies.
They’re not the flowers from our wedding, but it’s what he gave me for Prom when I insisted I didn’t want a corsage on my wrist all night. Instead, he showed up with a bouquet of my favorite flowers in bright, almost neon colors.
This arrangement is at least four times the size, but I know what it means before I reach my desk: he remembers the beginning of us…he wants me to know. I don’t know how to process it all when I see who is standing next to the flowers.
Liam.
His head snaps to mine and he pierces me with a look while I force my feet to continue walking.
I nod toward him. “Mr. Parker.”
His lips curl. “I’ve asked you…”
“To call you Liam,” I interrupt. “I know. It’s not happening.” Not while I’m still screaming that name in my dreams at night.
Goose bumps break out on my neck at the thought and I rub them away.
“You have flowers.”
He stares at them like he wants to trash them. I take in his tightened expression, his hard posture, and the one hand at his side that is curling into a fist and flexing.
