Why I'm Yours

by S. Moose

  Damn, she looks beautiful.

  She points to her ear, and I nod.

  “Just wanted to be sure you were on mute before I said anything.”

  “It’s okay. What’s up?”

  “Thank you for the coffee this morning. It wasn’t necessary, and honestly, you don’t have to do that. You owe me nothing. I appreciate it—truly, I do—but please, let’s keep this professional.”

  I questionably look at her and try to figure out what’s wrong with getting her coffee. “I was there anyway, Reagan. It’s not a big deal.”

  She remains silent for a moment, just staring at me, as if she has so much to say but is unsure of how to actually speak the words. “But you got me coffee—a latte to be exact—and you knew exactly what I wanted. How?”

  I shrug. “I overheard you telling my mother what kind you liked, so I remembered. It’s fine.”

  “Well, it’s not fine,” she barks before suddenly clearing her throat, as if attempting to calm herself. “Please don’t do it anymore.”

  Before I’m able to say anything, she quickly turns and walks out of my office, leaving me stunned and confused.

  “What the fuck just happened?”

  My phone conference lasts for fifteen minutes before I’m out of my office, walking toward Reagan’s desk, when I hear her voice spilling out from Remy’s office. I’m just outside the door, and I can see and hear what’s going on without them knowing I’m here like a creeper.

  “Thanks for the muffin.” Her tone’s light and carefree, unlike how she was with me earlier.

  “I was at the bakery across the street and got a few, so I thought you’d like one. It’s not a problem, so there’s no need for thanks.”

  They’re smiling at one another. Remy reaches over and places his hand on her forearm, and she doesn’t jerk away.

  Like she has with me.

  It’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to walk in and demand answers from her. Why’s Remy allowed to be nice when she unleashes hell on me when I do it?

  But that’s something I’m not going to do. Quietly, I head back to my office and bury myself back in work.

  I know I’m a damn asshole with walls built up around my life. This is how it’s been since the divorce. There’s too much of my life I need to protect, so getting attached to some woman I don’t know needs to end. The company and Dawson are my priorities. Everything else can wait.

  16

  Reagan

  There’s a welcoming and kind generosity that surrounds Remy. His sweet, gentle manner leaves me feeling comforted. I can’t explain it really. For the first time, my guard isn’t up in the presence of a man.

  There’s almost this brotherly, protective demeanor about him. It’s so unlike what I feel with Andrew. From the few times Remy and I have talked, I’ve noticed the way he shields me and makes sure I'm okay. It’s nice. There’s no pressure when I'm around him. He’s easy to talk to and makes me laugh when most men have me putting up my concrete walls.

  I’m inputting the last section of the notes from Miranda’s mid-afternoon meeting when my email pings, indicating a new message is in my inbox. I quickly grip my mouse and minimize the window, making my email visible.

  Andrew Powers, CFO.

  Just seeing his name makes my pulse quicken. Out of all the men in Chicago, I’m starting to feel something for my boss’s son. It’s crazy and irrational, but if I’m being honest, I don’t want to fight my feelings for him. I remember the loneliness from the past few years, and I miss the comfort of being with someone.

  He and I have this lust-hate thing going on, and it makes us unique. I know he feels it, too. Anyone can sense it in the way he looks at me with that deep, intense stare that makes my body shiver with need. The same stare I’ve witnessed every time we’re alone and even when we aren’t sometimes. Each time, my body reacts in the same way—racing heart, heat rising in my neck and cheeks, and I have the urge to rub my thighs together to gain just a small amount of relief.

  I stare at his name, fearful of opening the email. Either it’s snippy and straightforward, which I hate even though I know I shouldn’t care, or it contains some kind gesture or playful banter that makes me wish for things I know I can’t have. The idea of being friendly with Andrew, and letting him be my friend, would require me opening up my mind and my heart to the possibility of having a man in my life.

  I take in a deep breath, and before I can stop myself, I click on the message.

  Muffins seem to be much more appreciated than coffee. Or is it more of who delivers said gift to you?

  I stare at the screen, unsure of how to respond. As I hover over the Reply button, I see the reflection of someone standing just over my left shoulder. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him. Those broad shoulders of his are a distinguishing trait, and the shadow does nothing to hide them.

  “So, which is it?” Andrew softly asks from behind me.

  I don’t turn to face him. Being snarky and remaining distant are getting harder and harder by the day. Looking at him would only cause me to get lost in those eyes of his.

  “Is it the gift or more so the fact that I was the one gifting it?”

  “Andrew,” I begin.

  He moves forward, bracing his hand on the desk beside me. With his nearness, I can smell the deep, spicy aroma of his cologne, and I find myself breathing in just a little more. Hands down, he has the sexiest smell, and if I could smell him every day, I would. Even though this is the closest we’ve been and nothing’s ever happened between us, Andrew Powers has ruined me for other men. No one else will ever compare. With his commanding stare and demanding body, I’ll melt to his touch and crave more.

  “Drew,” he corrects.

  He corrects me often. I call him Andrew just to piss him off. Now, it’s more to remain professional when everything inside me is screaming to throw caution to the wind and live again.

  “I’m sorry for being unappreciative,” I apologize as I look to my left.

  The sleeve of his dress shirt is rolled up, exposing his muscular and cut forearm.

  “I just think that we need to keep things…” I let my words fade as I turn just a little more and realize just how close he is.

  “What is it about me that terrifies you?” he asks.

  “You don’t scare me,” I state. The timid vibration in my voice gives away the truth.

  Andrew does terrify me. He makes me question all the rules I have for myself, and those rules have always worked for me—until now. I’m trying so hard not to give in to my feelings for him. I’m positive I can keep this up until Andrew grows tired and moves on. I have to be strong.

  “I think you’re lying,” Andrew insists.

  My gaze instantly falls to his lips.

  “I think you’re worried that, if you give me a chance, I might not be such a bad guy. Then, you’ll no longer have grounds for avoiding me.”

  I’m lost in the way his mouth moves and the way his eyes scan over my face.

  “I just can’t seem to figure out why giving me a chance is a bad thing. My opinion is that you and I would be good together,” he adds, a smile tugging at his lips. “Now, I just need to figure out a way to convince you of that, too.”

  I can’t speak. If I attempt to say something, anything, I’ll make a fool of myself, and then I’ll have to quit my amazing job because there’s no way I’d be able to see Andrew again. I do what I do best and remain quiet. This man tests my limits and makes the strong, confident side of me weak with need.

  “Have dinner with me,” he says.

  I focus on breathing. With his nearness, it’s impossible to do a simple task. I’m going to pass out in front of Andrew because I can’t breathe. No matter what, even if I can’t breathe, I’m sure he can hear the rapid beating of my heart.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “Just you and me, no business-related topics, no cute little boys stealing the spotlight.”

  I smile, thinking of Da
wson, and when I look back at Andrew, he, too, is smiling.

  Oh, that smile.

  This is how he’s going to break me down—with his relentlessness, smile, and adorable son.

  “He is exceptionally cute.”

  “He gets it from me.” He smirks, and the heaviness I felt only moments ago suddenly feels a little lighter. “I promise, nothing more than dinner and talking. I want to get to know you, Reagan,” he confesses.

  My mind screams no, but my heart is saying it’s time to take a chance and leap forward.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “Dinner,” I add.

  “You won’t regret it,” he assures me as he leans in closer and presses a soft, gentle kiss to my cheek.

  My eyes flutter shut, and I take it in. I fight against the urge to move away because, for once, I want to feel normal.

  I know Andrew won’t hurt me.

  “Tomorrow evening?” he asks as he stands tall.

  I look up at him. I offer a nod, which seems to only please him more.

  I watch as he walks away, those charcoal-colored slacks covering his legs and ass so perfectly. Andrew Powers is perfection. He’s powerful, dominating, and confident. All the characteristics that I should be avoiding, yet these are the characteristics that make me want him. I pray he’s not like other men, thinking he can get away with anything because of his looks and status.

  No, Andrew’s different.

  “What am I doing?” I ask myself just as he disappears around the corner.

  17

  Drew

  Unknown Number: Hi, Andrew. It’s Reagan. I got your number from Remy. Thank you for the beautiful dress for our dinner tonight, but it’s way too much. You didn’t have to do that. I have my own dresses you know.

  When I see the text from Reagan, I quickly save her number into my contacts.

  Tonight’s the night of our dinner date.

  I left work a little early, to the surprise of my mother and Remy, and went to Nordstrom to meet with my stylist. I gave her Reagan’s measurements—from what I could tell and I tend to have an eye for detail, so I was sure I was right—and told her what tonight means to me. She told me to trust her, and I did.

  After picking my suit up, I headed home and spent time with Dawson, listening to his endless questioning of my evening.

  “You’re dating?”

  “Does this mean I’m getting a new mom?”

  “Wait, Reagan. Isn’t she the one from the restaurant?”

  “I like her, Dad. She’s funny, and she makes you smile. She makes you laugh, too.”

  I held in my laughter. My six-year-old son—a spitting image of me, my mini me—asked me questions I knew would be coming. Since the divorce I never brought a woman around Dawson, and now that he’s met Reagan, the questions were flying out.

  I explained that it was a date, that I was getting to know Reagan, and that he had a mom who loved him very much. She just had a strange way of showing it, which was one I would never truly understand.

  Dawson accepted this answer and took his bag to the car. Then, I dropped him off at my parents’ for the evening.

  I’m still looking at her message on my phone. I didn’t do this to make her feel bad. Tonight is all about her, and I wanted to make her feel special. Even though she’s just a friend, but hopefully, she’ll be something more.

  Me: It’s no problem. Tonight’s all about you. See you at 7.

  Reagan: Okay.

  I’m anxious to see which dress she picked out. Normally, I wouldn’t do this for any woman. But Reagan is different. I can see more with her rather than one night. I’m picturing her in the long, strapless champagne dress. The dress hugging her soft curves, hiding a precious gift beneath.

  Her smile flashes in my head. Damn. Instantly, my arousal’s apparent, and I need to take care of that before our evening begins.

  After taking care of myself, I take one last look, adjusting the sleeves of my suit, I head out to get a cab and give him the name of the place I need to be.

  The cab ride takes a little longer than usual. Chicago traffic isn’t friendly, and I tend to stick with taxis, unlike my parents who like having their own driver.

  I can afford one, but it’s not needed. I want to show Dawson that, even though our family has money, we should be careful where and how it’s spent. The cab ride fares aren’t terrible, and it’s cheaper than hiring a driver.

  When the cab drops me off in front of Catch 35, I hand him a fifty and walk in to find Reagan standing by the hostess booth. Her long auburn hair is in soft curls, cascading past her shoulders. The dress, the champagne-colored Vera Wang I pictured her in, looks beautiful on her. Better than I imagined. I take in a sharp breath, and an intoxicating feeling takes over when she turns and notices me by the door, staring at her.

  Ever since meeting her, her face is what I see when I jerk off, moaning her name and imagining her moaning mine. It’s a daily occurrence since I haven’t had sex since meeting her.

  Fuck. How am I supposed to keep it friendly and slow tonight?

  My body is already vibrating with the need to feel her pressed against me, her breath fanning over my neck and shoulder as I thrust into her. I'm a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

  I wish she’d allowed me to pick her up this evening. Part of the deal tonight was that we’d meet at the restaurant and go from there. I wasn’t about to argue with her demands after she agreed to dinner.

  I shake off my thoughts and turn my attention back to Reagan, who is standing before me, inches from my hard body, smiling her infrequent smile at me. Her smile stretches across her face, touching her eyes, and everything around me stills. I only see her.

  “Hi,” she whispers.

  “You look beautiful.”

  I don’t miss the blush on her cheeks and the way her rigid body finally relaxes. This is what I want tonight and for the days that follow.

  Without a second thought, I reach up and allow my finger to trail down her cheek, feeling and absorbing the softness of her skin. “The dress looks exquisite on you. I was hoping you’d pick this one.”

  “Thank you. It fits perfectly. How’d you know my size?”

  I wrap a strand of her hair around my finger, noticing the quickness of her short breaths. “I make it my job to know everything.” I lean in close to her lips and whisper, “Shall we?”

  With a swift intake of breath, she nods, and I place my hand on the small of her back. I keep my hand on her as I follow her to our table.

  As soon as we’re seated, a tall, older gentleman takes our drink order. Reagan asks for sparkling water, and I remember her mentioning she doesn’t drink, so I order the same. I watch as she looks at the menu. I notice the widening of her eyes and wonder if she’s used to fine dining. When I reach over to place my hand on hers, she tenses but soon relaxes when she looks at me.

  “Order anything you’d like.”

  “What do you recommend?” she asks, still looking awestruck by the items listed.

  Since I’ve been here a few times, I know the menu, but I open it to humor myself and to see if anything has changed. “I’d like to start off with the grilled oysters and Szechuan scallops if you’d like that, too.”

  “I love seafood, so all of that sounds amazing.”

  I smile. “Martha’s Vineyard salad is good, but I’d recommend the shrimp and crab bisque. It’s the best in town. Following our appetizers, I’d suggest ordering the Ecuadorian mahi-mahi with the twin Atlantic cold lobster tails.”

  “Both? That seems to be a lot. I’ll be fine with the mahi-mahi.”

  “Both, together, are very good.”

  “Okay.” She smiles and nods. “I’ll do that. What about you?”

  “I’m doing the Atlantic cold water lobster tail and filet mignon.”

  “Please tell me you like it medium rare,” she says with a cock of her brow.

  I try not to laugh too loud. Her question throws me off a little. It’s unexpected.

  “
Yes, why I do.”

  “Good. People who order well done ruin the steak.”

  “You seem passionate about rare meat.”

  Her face blushes, and she takes a sip of her water. “So, where’s Dawson tonight?”

  “With my parents. They’re keeping him overnight.”

  “I’m not going home with you, Andrew.” Once the words leave her lips, she looks away, as if embarrassed a little by her outburst.

  Her honesty amazes me. It’s part of who she is and that’s nothing she should feel bad about.

  “Please”—I reach out and entwine my fingers with hers—“call me Drew. And, for the record, I never asked you to come home with me.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know”—I pause slightly and watch her lean in a little closer—“it’s nice to be with someone who doesn’t expect too much. Being with you makes me feel comfortable. It’s refreshing.”

  “Thanks,” she says, still looking a little flustered. “Can you point me to the restroom?”

  I get up and help her up, explaining where to go. As she’s walking away, slightly swaying her sexy hips, my semi-hard cock hardens a little more, and all I want is to skip dinner and take her back to my place. I’d like nothing more than to see her move her hips that very same way, only with my cock buried inside her from behind.

  I’m going straight to hell.

  My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket, and it’s Dawson, so I immediately answer, clearing away the erotic thoughts I was having only seconds ago.

  “Hey, Dad! How’s the date going?”

  “It’s good, Dawson. Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I wanted to call you and remind you to be nice and tell her she looks pretty.”

  I laugh at his words and curiosity. He’s definitely my son.

  “Everything's going well. There’s not too much to report. She asked for my recommendation, and I gave it to her after I told her she looked beautiful. Are you having fun with Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “Yep. Grandpa’s cooking popcorn in the microwave. We’re going to watch a movie and sleep in the fort we built. It’s so cool! And Grandma’s making her famous chocolate cookies, and you know how much I love her cookies.”