Page 38 of More Than Words

“Don’t,” I warned, tipping my glass in his direction. “I may tolerate your bullshit occasionally, but don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything bad.”

“This time.”

“Fair enough.” He paused, rising from the couch to deposit his now empty container on the edge of my kitchen counter. He walked back toward the door and bent down to retrieve his computer from his bag. His snug dress pants tightened across his ass, and I shamelessly ogled him like he’d done to me earlier.

“Quit staring at my ass.”

Smothering a giggle, I tipped back my wine, setting the nearly empty glass on the corner of my coffee table.

“You didn’t deny it,” he observed with a smirk while he returned to his seat on the other end of the couch.

“Am I supposed to? You know you like all the appreciative looks your suit porn gets.”

His grin was borderline obnoxious as he opened his laptop, refraining from responding to my comment. He had to know how despite his mouth being a problem; he was often a source of gossip among the women of the office. Typically, because we were all bemoaning that a man that attractive had the emotional intelligence of a gnat. But Adrian had fooled us all, thinking he was a colossal douchecanoe when he could be a thoughtful, considerate human being.

Maybe I needed that last swallow of wine after all.

“Wasn’t aware I was the star of your pornographic menswear fantasies, but I can’t say that I’m mad about it. You’re often the focus of my nocturnal emissions as of late.”

He laughed as my eyes widened, my mouthful of wine nearly becoming a choking hazard as I sputtered.

“Do you need a napkin?”

This smug bastard.

“You keep your emissions off my couch, mister.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this an emission-free zone?”

Why did our conversations always lead to something suggestive? Maybe it was because the thinly veiled mutual attraction we shared seemed to be fully out of hiding. Or maybe because I could still remember the taste of him in my mouth. Whatever it was, I was in trouble.

“Sorry, this couch is pristine in more ways than one. You keep your dirty thoughts away from my baby and keep your pants on.” He chucked as I lovingly petted the soft material of the first possession I bought when I moved into this apartment after the divorce.

“Do we have to keep yours on?” Adrian asked, with one eyebrow raised slightly. His tongue made a slow pass between his lips and my mouth went dry at the sight of it, but I wasn’t letting him suck me back into the orbit of his sexual brain fog. I made impulsive decisions around him, and I needed to keep this professional for my own sanity.

“Just pull up the document and stop flirting with me.”

Quickly reaching forward, I grabbed my glass—tipping in the last few drops lingering in the bottom, rose from the cushion I’d been slouched against, and carried my partially empty container to the kitchen counter. I eyed the bottle of wine on the table, debating on a refill, but we needed to get something productive done tonight regardless of his flirtatious advances. The consumption of more alcohol would just make interacting with him cloud my brain further.

I grabbed my tablet off the table before I returned to my end of the couch, quickly typing in my passcode and sitting down.

“If you want to see my notes, you need to sit a little closer than that.”

My pulse skipped as I shifted across the empty cushion between us, his arm perched across the back of the couch, seemingly welcoming me into his side. I may have known what he tasted like, but we hadn’t exactly cuddled after what we’d done in our adjoined hotel rooms. Or what he’d done to me, despite my best efforts to escape. Couldn’t he just let a girl fellate and flee? Sometimes you just wanted a mouth full of—

“Can you see alright, or do I need to make the font larger?” he asked, interrupting my line of thought. He’d leaned toward my ear, his warm breath stirring the stray hairs against my neck, the sensation not entirely unpleasant.

“Are you calling me old?” I whispered, my voice tense at his proximity. The warmth from his side radiated through my sweater, sending a shiver up my spine. Despite spending the day in the office and coming straight here, he still smelled amazing, and I was finding it hard to concentrate on the words on the laptop screen propped on his legs. His strong, muscular legs, that had flexed when I grasped them, while my lips surrounded his—

“You’re shaking. Are you cold?” he whispered back, shifting slightly in my direction.

I didn’t dare look at his face. He could read me too well. He’d know by the flush on my cheeks and the dazed look in my eyes that my thoughts weren’t entirely on work.

“You seem tense.”

I am tense—was what I wanted to say, but admitting that would only lead to more questions. Questions I didn’t have the answers to. I was wondering about my sanity lately, too. I was never this scattered when it came to work.

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