Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3)

by Veronica Larsen

  A long time ago, I learned to use lulls to disarm people. Silence feels unnatural and compels people to blurt things out just to break it, revealing things by accident. I rarely even notice when I'm doing this. It's become an automatic part of my interactions with strangers. I notice with Leo. Because with Leo, I'm the one squirming on the inside.

  Finally, he says, "Can I ask you a serious question?"

  I clear my throat. "Sure."

  "Why is the coffee machine this complicated? Is it a ploy to ration the coffee around here?"

  My lips threaten to curve upward. "The rationing of coffee will never happen, I promise."

  "Ah," he says with a small smile, "our leader is as merciful as she is beautiful."

  My lips part a few seconds before I'm ready to speak again. Was that an innocent compliment or is he flirting with me? He sounds so comfortable saying it that it makes me feel ridiculous for reading too much into it.

  That's twice now he's made me nervous.

  Apart from his small smile, his demeanor remains reserved, with no indication he is consciously coming on to me. I tell myself perhaps this is how he interacts with women. A man who looks the way he does must be accustomed to female attention, must make a habit of unconsciously casting out the sex appeal like a lure, just to see what bites.

  I'd like to think I'm the one who makes people nervous, men in particular. Men are easy. Or, at least, they've always been before. I'm not sure I enjoy it when the tables turn this way.

  I glance back at the doorway. My subconscious is willing for someone to walk through it so I don't have to be alone with Leo anymore. But I know no one is coming. It's possible we are the last two left in the office.

  "What are you doing tonight?" he asks.

  I blink but mask it by pretending to glimpse at the machine behind him. His pause is just long enough before he adds, "You know, for Halloween?"

  Did I think he was asking me out? Of course he isn't. I'm his boss. Even he wouldn't have the balls for that. I clear my throat again, aware it's my second time and mentally scolding myself for showing nerves. I cross my arms before I realize I do.

  "I'm not one for dressing up in costumes," I say.

  "Well, that's a shame."

  There seems to be a suggestion to his tone but I choose to ignore it because I will otherwise linger on it.

  He turns toward the freshly brewed cups and hands me my own. This time, our fingers don't graze, yet I sense the absence of his touch as distinctly as I felt the presence of it.

  We stand side by side as we flavor our coffees on the counter. He adds sugar but no creamer to his, I add creamer but no sugar to mine. We share a fleeting look, but neither one of us speaks. If the silence between us was tense before, it's crackling now, waking me up in ways even caffeine can't manage.

  I should walk away when I finish preparing my coffee, but instead, I stand next to him and start drinking it. He does the same. I stare back at him even as he studies my expression. He is trying to read something under the layers of it. He is unapologetically intrusive, but I refuse to cast my eyes away. Not again.

  "You don't talk much, do you?" he asks.

  His tone is unassuming. I can hardly hear the insinuation that I'm standoffish. It's not that I would not rather be personable, or even charismatic. That would be ideal, of course. Those things don't come naturally to me. I can turn on my people skills when it comes to business, but in a casual setting I struggle to keep the conversation going. An anxiety comes over me that I'll reveal something I don't mean to. The less I speak, the more confident I feel.

  "I'm not big on small talk."

  He lets out an exaggerated sigh that seems to be part of an internal joke. "I thought I'd get a chance to know the boss. The elusive Alexis Stone."

  "I go by Lex," I say without a moment's pause. Though for the first time in quite a long time, I like the sound of my full name. It may be his voice, somehow gravely and smooth at the same time.

  "What's wrong with 'Alexis'? You don't like the name your parents gave you?"

  "I don't like it for exactly that reason."

  I'm glad that he doesn't seem to catch the meaning behind my words. Instead, his expression teeters between polite interest and bemusement. He doesn't seem fazed in the least by the silences following our speech. Anyone else would be twitching in discomfort and itching to return the conversation to a comfortable zone. But not Leo, not this blue-eyed specimen of a man.

  God, why am I silently counting down the time it's been since I last felt a man's body pressed to mine?

  Stop it, Lex.

  It's been a while. A long while.

  He pours out the rest of his coffee in the sink and I cringe inside, seeing my favorite substance circling the drain. I look down and notice my own cup is all but empty. How long have I been standing here, avoiding his questions but basking in his intense gaze?

  He reaches for my cup and asks, "May I?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  I let him take it and place it in the sink.

  "Well, Alexis." He pauses, waiting for my objection. The fact that he insists on using my full name isn't lost on me, but I don't take the bait of bringing attention to it. He tilts his head forward, and with a quick clearing of his throat adds, "Nice chat."

  I get it. He's being sarcastic and finds speaking to me to be a lot like pulling teeth.

  He begins to walk forward and I, anticipating he is going to move to the right, go left. We almost collide. I have to put my hands up in front of me to prevent his chest from pressing into mine.

  "Whoa there," I say.

  In the fraction of a second my palms feel his chest, I make contact with firm muscles through his shirt.

  We lock eyes again. He's close enough for me to smell his cologne. It's a subtle smell, but sophisticated and masculine. Notes of leather and the faintest traces of spearmint trickle through my nostrils. The scent caresses my senses and stirs the impulse to envelop myself in it. In him. On him.

  "Sorry about that," he says respectfully as he looks down at me. His tone is detached, but he makes no effort to pull away. In those short seconds, I don't want him to. I nearly blush again.

  This is ridiculous. I can't remember the last time I wanted to intimidate someone. A familiar competitiveness roars to life within me; I don't like to feel like someone has something over me. Even if that something is the mere effect of their presence. I want—no, I need—to get a reaction from him. Any reaction. Simply because I do.

  I have barely a second to react, but a second is all I need. Leo is a man and if I know one thing about men, they are fickle and predictable.

  We separate and, as I walk past him, I lean into him and whisper, "Don't be sorry."

  My voice is smooth and suggestive.

  When I reach the door, I turn back to see him rooted to the spot. "Goodnight, Leo."

  I walk away, feeling a delightful rush of energy run down my core. Seeing him finally react to me in a tangible way makes me feel like I've won.

  Won what? I don't know, but it hardly matters. Still, something unexpected happens in the process. Something in my own reaction takes me by surprise. My excitement seems to coil down where my thighs turn into an ache.

  I realize I do like Leo. I want to do things to him I shouldn't even allow myself to consider. It's just that, I can't remember the last time a man's presence stirred me this way. My imagination is already running wild. I tell myself that's okay.

  The scenarios I entertain in my own head are none of his business.

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  Acknowledgements

  A big thanks to you, reader, for picking up thi
s story and giving it a shot. Also, a huge thank you to all of the Bloggers who have read/reviewed my books and/or offered to help spread the word. I've met some pretty awesome people in the past year and I have to say, I love this book community hard.

  I also want to acknowledge the following women for their help. Lea, you're more than my editor, you're my partner in crime. Heather, thanks for helping me look like I know what I'm talking about when it comes to law type stuff. Neda, thank you once again for putting together my blog tour. Julie, thanks for polishing everything up.

  To my friends, who are always there to offer me advice, encouragement, and support: I appreciate you all so much. A big thank you to Courtney and Karyn for beta-reading for me.

  To my mom, once again you were the loudest cheerleader throughout this process, encouraging me the whole way, despite the fact that I won't ever let you read my sex-ridden stories. :)

  To my husband, on numerous occasions you've held down the fort so that I could write with abandon and meet my crazy deadlines. I couldn't do any of this without you by my side.

  I like to include a section in my acknowledgments where I mention any conscious influences the novel might have derived. Music always inspires me and this time the songs that influenced this novel were: 'I Don't Dance' by Lee Brice, 'Photograph' by Ed Sheeran, 'Thinking Out Loud' by Ed Sheeran, and 'All of Me' by John Legend. The novel also derived inspiration from the 1999 movie 10 Things I Hate About You. It's one of my favorites.