My heart rate picks up as I press my hand against the dark wood and push.
I don’t need to see him sitting behind his huge desk with the Chicago skyline behind him to know he’s there. I feel his presence.
Although, it seems that he doesn’t feel the same about my arrival because he doesn’t so much as flinch or look up from his computer screen. It allows me a few seconds to take him in. He’s shirtless, and his hair is a mess. It really is a sight to behold. I’m so used to the put-together, suited version of him that this relaxed side makes me do a second take.
I’m halfway across the room before he looks up.
The smile he gives as his eyes find mine, though...that sure makes up for it.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, his own voice still a little raspy from sleep.
“Thank you,” I whisper, trying to fight the emotion that wants to break free all over again.
“You’re welcome. Is it all okay?”
I shake my head, and his confidence wanes.
“Y-yeah, it’s perfect. How did you know?”
He taps the side of his nose. “A little birdy told me.”
“Tate,” I breathe.
“Yeah. Even I can admit when I need help, Temptress.”
My brows rise at his confession.
“Come here,” he says, pushing his chair back to allow me space to sit on his lap.
“Umm…” I hesitate.
“I need your opinion on this email,” he adds as a way of convincing me.
“Kian, we?—”
“Just work, Lorelei. Then you can go and do whatever you do with all those bottles that make your hair so pretty.”
“You think my hair is pretty?” I ask, my brain yet to function properly by catching the words before they spill free.
“Lorelei,” he sighs. “There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t pretty. Now get over here and read this,” he demands, his “boss” voice flowing back and making tingles run down my spine.
My feet move of their own accord, and I find myself closing the space between us. But I don’t lower myself onto his lap. I draw the line there.
Instead, I lean over the desk and scan the email before me.
It’s bullshit. Nothing that he needs my opinion on at all. Just Martin keeping him in the loop with something I’m not even aware of.
I’m about to stand back up and tell him that he’s wasting my time when he acts.
His hands wrap around my hips, and I’m dragged into the position he wanted me in.
“Kian,” I cry, wriggling in his grasp, but his hold is too tight.
“Stop fighting me, Temptress. It’ll only get me harder.”
I still, swallowing thickly as his words hit their mark.
“How are you feeling?”