Page 12 of Need Him Like Oxygen

Was I really doing this?

Agreeing to keep a pretty big fucking secret from our boss?

The thing was, I knew the answer even before I made it to my closet, grabbing a zip-up hoodie, and making my way back to the bathroom.

Yes.

For Cinna?

Yes, I would do this.

CHAPTER THREE

Cinna

For a man who had been making comments about getting me naked for years, he was surprisingly gentlemanly as he undid my bra, then turned me, so he couldn’t see anything as he moved past me.

I wasn’t exactly a modest woman.

If he saw my tits during this process, so be it.

But there was a strange gooey sensation in my chest as he came back into the bathroom, then carefully slid one of my arms in, and pulled the shirt around me, before slipping in my other arm. Then, finally, he reached around, making sure the sides were settled between my breasts, so nothing was showing.

I could have sworn that before he turned me, his lips pressed into my hair. But, honestly, I had no fucking idea. My entire skull felt like it was throbbing at that point. I was probably just imagining things.

Dav moved in front of me, grabbing the zip, and slipping it up, careful not to brush my skin.

The weird thing was, some part of me was… I don’t know… disappointed.

Which made no fucking sense, since I’d never had any interest in Dav that way. I couldn’t. We were colleagues. And shit was hard enough for a woman in this job. You couldn’t have it getting around that you fucked coworkers. Any respect you sweated and bled for would fly right out the window.

“Hey, Cinna?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically serious as his gaze cut up to mine.

Even with only half of my vision working, I had to admit that he was a pretty place to rest your eyes for a minute or two.

Dav was a little bit too fair to be fully Italian like most of us. His hair was solidly in the brown category, but it was streaked with enough golden strands to make him seem more fair-haired. And his light blue eyes with their thick lashes were undeniably attractive.

And don’t think I didn’t notice the rest of him.

The low-slung pajama pants left very little to the imagination, his broad chest, six-pack, and Adonis belt on full display.

But where I usually found mischief in his eyes as he looked at me, or even, at times, desire, there was something darker there now.

“What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything else.

“Your waistband is rolled,” he said, the implication hanging in the air like a fog we were both struggling to breathe in.

My gaze slid away, surprising myself with my own embarrassment. Even though nothing that happened was because of anything I’d done.

“No,” I said. “If I didn’t grab a bottle neck and strike out, though,” I admitted, taking a deep breath that sliced up my ribs and burned my lungs like something noxious.

“How about I peel the pants off?” he suggested. “Can’t imagine getting the leather off with that busted hand is gonna feel good.”

“Okay,” I agreed, too tired to try to find my pride, to insist I could do it myself.

He was offering.

I was going to let him.

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