Page 32 of Head Over Skates

"I think we've got what we came for," I say briskly, stowing my phone away. “Now let’s get out of here before we’re caught.”

My heart pounds as Owen and I slip out of Mark's office. We got what we came for, but now we just have to sneak out.

We ease the office door shut behind us when a noise down the hall makes us both freeze. Footsteps. My pulse skyrockets. Owen's eyes go wide with panic, mirroring my own.

"It's Mark," he hisses. "We've gotta move now!"

We can’t go back the way we came, so we take off down the hall—away from the footsteps, but there's nowhere to go. It's a dead end, no other doors or hallways branching off. We're trapped.

The footsteps grow louder, closing in. Owen grabs my arm and pulls me into a dark alcove, pressing my back against the wall. I hold my breath, heart hammering against my ribs. Owen's broad shoulders shield me from view as he peers around the edge of the alcove. We can't let Mark catch us, not when we're this close. Owen shifts, angling his body to block me even more.

"I'm going to do something you probably won't like… but I need you to go with it," he whispers, his face so close to me, I can smell whatever balm he puts in his closely clipped beard. Before I can respond, his mouth descends onto mine in a searing kiss.

For a split second, I freeze up in shock. But as the footsteps echo down the hallway, instinct takes over and I find myself kissing him back, my hands coming up tentatively to grasp his muscular arms.

My head spins, heat flooding through me. I know this is just an act, a cover to avoid getting caught. But as our mouths move together, that fades into the background. All I can focus on is the feeling of his lips on mine, firm and demanding. The scratch of his whiskers against my skin.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, alarm bells sound. This is Owen Jablonski, my enemy. The cocky, womanizing jock who I vowed to ruin. I shouldn't be kissing him like this, shouldn't be arching into him as his lips slide against mine.

But the way he kisses me, like he's pouring every ounce of passion into this moment, makes it impossible to resist him. His lips are firm yet surprisingly soft, molding against my own. My hands grip his broad shoulders and I devour him hungrily, months of pent-up frustration boiling over.

A warmth spreads through my body that has nothing to do with the anger and irritation Owen usually elicits in me. I feel almost limp in his arms, my knees going weak.

How can someone so arrogant and infuriating also be so talented with his mouth? My lips tingle everywhere they meet his. It's like my body has a mind of its own, responding to Owen's kiss even as my rational mind rebels.

One of his hands slides into my hair, angling my head back further, deepening the kiss. I gasp and he takes the opportunity to press me harder against the wall.

I'm in so much trouble here. I need to stop this, I need to push him away… but I can't seem to make myself do it.

He kisses me like he has all the time in the world to explore my mouth. He tastes like mint and something uniquely masculine, a taste I didn't know I craved until now.

My hands clutch at his shoulders, feeling the strength in them. Somewhere in the recesses of my lust-addled brain, I know I should be resisting, that Owen represents everything I stand against. But right now, pinned between his muscular body and the wall, coherent thought is beyond me.

A low groan rumbles in Owen's chest that I feel a shudder through me. The sound sends desire coursing down to my navel, and my fingers give his neck a little scratch of their own volition. He pulls back a fraction, both of us breathless.

"Well, would you look at that. Kitten has claws," he murmurs, voice rough. His eyes are hooded, lips kiss-swollen. He looks as dazed as I feel.

I lick my tingling lips, trying to gather the scraps of my dignity. But I have no quick retort, no witty comeback. Right now, I just want his mouth back on mine.

Owen seems to read my need because he swoops in again, claiming my lips in another drugging kiss. His body pins me in place while his mouth works me into a frenzy I've never experienced before.

I hate that he can make me feel this way with just a kiss. I hate it and I crave it. My hands are in his hair now, gripping the wavy strands. I kiss him back feverishly, taking everything he's giving me.

I'm lost, feeling the sensation of free-falling out of an airplane, when the sharp sound of a throat clearing shatters the moment. We break apart, flushed and breathless. Mark stands there staring at us, eyebrows raised.

"Can I help you two with something?" he asks pointedly.

Owen slips into an easy grin. “Sorry man, we were just, uh…”

Mark tilts his head suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you two have left hours ago?”

“My woman had to work late,” Owen says smoothly, the lie rolling effortlessly off his tongue, “And then… well, my lady likes to roleplay. You understand.”

He smacks my butt and winks at me. I am so going to kill him later. Smiling, Owen jerks his chin at Mark like it’s some kind of bro language I don’t understand. The bro language of philandering d-bags.

Mark nods, eyes volleying between me and Owen.

"We'll get out of your hair." Owen takes my hand and gathers me close to him, and as we hurry past Mark down the hallway, his eyes bore into our backs. As soon as we're out of view, I drop Owen's hand, my lips still tingling from his kiss. What just happened back there? For a moment, I let myself forget who Owen is, the secrets between us.

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