Page 41 of One Pucking Wish

“Yes. Can you hand them to me, please?” She stares up at me with her wide doe eyes.

I take her in; my gaze scans her from top to bottom. I’m glad to see she’s ditched her usual uniform of a tight skirt and a fancy blouse. However, her pants and top are still more appropriate for an office than a worksite. The heels she wears not only look incredibly uncomfortable but they also make her at least two inches taller. And that damn twist of her hair.

“Why didn’t you wear something more comfortable to work in?” I ask.

“Why are you asking me questions about my attire instead of handing me the light bulbs?” she snaps.

Leaving the plastic bin in its place on the top shelf, I take a step toward her. “Why don’t you ever wear your hair down or in anything other than this twist?” The question leaves my lips before I can stop it. It was an intrusive thought that I had no right voicing, evident by her appalled gasp. But what’s done is done, and at this point, I’m committing to wherever this line of questioning takes me.

“Are you serious right now? Give me the damn light bulbs, Dreven,” she orders, her brows furrowed.

“Princess, I just want to know. Doesn’t your head hurt with the hair wound so tightly like that all the time?”

“Do not call me that,” she warns under her breath.

I take another step toward her. “Do you ever think about Vancouver?”

She’s utterly shocked. “No! I don’t. And neither should you. Now give me the light bulbs or move so I can get them myself.”

I take a step to the side, allowing her to pass. Her heels click against the tiled floor as she hurries past me. She reaches for the shelf over her head, but it’s just out of grasp. Stepping up behind her, I grab her waist and lift her.

Shrieking, she hits my arms. “Oh my God, what are you doing? Put me down!”

“I’m helping you reach them.”

She kicks her leg back, and her pointy heel goes into my shin. I grunt when the burst of pain hits me. “Put me down, now,” she seethes.

This time, I do as instructed. Only, I don’t step back. Leaning my arms against the metal shelving, I cage her in.

She turns to face me. “What are you doing? Most days, I can’t get two words from you, and the ones I get aren’t very nice. Now, you’re asking me about Vancouver and picking me up. What the hell is going on, Dreven?”

Maybe I’m going insane, or maybe being alone with her in this small space is doing something to me. I can smell her perfume and the shampoo she uses on her hair. Images of her curly red locks falling over her bare shoulders and ample breasts have me instantly hard.

What. The. Fuck?

“Take your hair down,” I order, my voice heavy with need.

“What? No.” Her response is firm, but her voice shakes, and she doesn’t move.

It’s not just images of her hair flashing through my mind. Every minute we were together in Vancouver plays in my head like a highlight reel. Images that I’ve worked to bury deep explode in my mind in full color, and I’m insane with need—for her. It’s almost painful, this desire. An ounce of rational thought left in me tells me to walk away, but I ignore it in favor of every other part of me that wants to stay.

“The hair. Now.”

This time, she listens. Her full lips part as she breathes heavy. Lifting her arms, she removes a clip from her hair. It falls from the twist and tumbles down over her shoulders.

I thread my fingers through her hair, running them along her scalp as I shake her curls loose. She closes her eyes and releases a soft moan. Leaning in, I press my lips against hers. I slide my tongue between her lips, requesting access, and she grants it. As my tongue slides into her mouth, her body melts against mine. Our tongues twist as our lips devour one another. With each little whimper that slides from her mouth into mine, my need for her grows.

“Tell me to take off your shirt,” I order against her lips.

“Take off my shirt.”

I move my mouth from hers and stare at her, fascinated. She leans against the shelf, her eyes closed as her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. I unbutton her blouse. I splay my hands against her soft skin and move my hands up her torso, over her bra, and to her shoulders until her shirt falls to the ground.

“Lock the door,” she pants as my fingers burn circles over her skin.

“Yeah. Tell me to take off your bra.”

“Take it off.”

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