Page 73 of Fire in You

I drew in a stuttered breath. Oh my God, we never talked about that time—about those months after his chest wall injury.

“Or let’s talk about how not that long ago you were riding my fingers until you came? Just a boss? Come on, Jilly, you can do better than that.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, thrown off-balance. I struggled to breathe as Brock left what remained of the space between us behind. He towered over me, so close that his right leg brushed against my left one.

“It has nothing to do with me being your boss. Us working together isn’t even a drop in the damn bucket of our life,” he said. “You don’t want to answer the question, because you know there is none.”

“That’s not true,” I swore, and then stiffened as he pried the open wine bottle out of my hand and placed it on the small table beside us. “What are you doing?”

Placing both of his hands against the wall, on either side of me, he leaned in and lowered his head so we were nearly eye to eye. “Tell me one thing that excites you about him.”

“Why?” I whispered, my chest rising and falling sharply as my gaze dipped to his mouth.

“Because I want to know . . .” One of his hands left the wall and curved over my shoulder. I shuddered, and his head tilted to the side. “I want to know why, after what happened between us, you’d actually go out on a date with another man.”

My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in every part of my body. Senses overwhelmed, I had no idea how we’d ended up here, him slipping his hand down my arm, to my hip. I had no idea how his other hand was suddenly on the other side of my waist. All my being zeroed in on the warmth of his hands burning through the thin dress. A sharp ache hit low in my stomach, throbbing and intense.

“Jillian?” he said my name in this soft way that did crazy things to my brain cells, melting them together like they were nothing more than butter.

I wet my lips. “He’s nice. Grady is really nice.”

“Nice?” His hands glided up my sides, and my body reacted without thought. My back arched and my breath hitched as he lowered his mouth to my ear. His breath was hot against my skin as he said, “You don’t wantnice.Nicedoesn’t excite you.”

My hands found their way to his chest. I pushed at him at the same time my fingers curled into the front of his sweater, holding him in place.

“I’m sure Grady is a nice, little man,” he went on, and his hands were on the move again, one coasting back down to my hip. The other stayed over my ribs and each swipe of his thumb brought him into contact with the lower swell of my breast. “I don’t have anything against him, but if he excited you, if he brought this very same blush to your cheeks?” His hot mouth coasted over said cheek. The coarse hair of his jaw elicited a sharp gasp from me. “If he excited you, if you were really into him, then I wouldn’t have ruined your date. You’d be with him right now. And I sure as hell wouldn’t know what it felt like for you to come.”

I wasn’t sure that logic worked, but my mind seemed to have checked out, because it was all about the way I felt. A languid heat invaded my bloodstream. The throbbing increased in certain areas of my body. My breasts grew heavy and achy, and those feelings only intensified when I felt his breath on my lips, turning my blood to molten lava.

His lower body leaned into mine, and my breath came into short inhales as I felt him against my belly, thick and hard. Holy crap, there was no denying that, no hiding his reaction. Sharp arousal loosened and tightened my muscles all at once. Our mouths were now lined up perfectly, his lips so close to mine.

I’d never felt anything like this before.

Never.

Brock was going to kiss me, and this time, it would count.

And I wasn’t going to turn my head away.

I was thinking Brock wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kissing.

Realizing that, knowing I would let him kiss me and I would ultimately let him do whatever ever he wanted to me, cleared some of the fog from my thoughts.

What was happening here?

It had only been, what, almost two months since we’d reentered each other’s lives? Two months after years of no contact—years of my life falling apart and his living something like aForbessuccess story? He’d even gotten engaged and broken up, and he . . . had broken my heart. But now he was back in my life as my boss, myfreakingboss, and I was barely beginning to figure out who I was.

My fingers flattened against his chest. “What . . . what are we doing?”

Brock stilled, and for a moment I wasn’t even sure he was breathing or not. Then he shifted slightly, resting his forehead against mine. “I . . . I really don’t know.”

That bitter mixture of disappointment and relief swelled once more. Swallowing hard, I pushed against his chest even though I wanted to say screw it and climb him like a damn spider monkey.

“But,” he rasped, and then the hand at my back slid to my hip, gripping it. “But I do know, Jillian, that I want you.”

Chapter 21

Brock wanted me.

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