Page 56 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

She prowls around, staring at the walls and papers covered with plans she can’t possibly understand. She trails a finger across the whiteboard, making half of ‘No Excuses’ disappear from the lower section of the schedule.

My eyes follow her, drinking in the beautiful, sensual sight of her in that fucking dress. My dick behaves, for now, but I’m not optimistic.

She moves around my desk and sits right at the edge a little to the right of me. If I slide over just a few inches, I can be between her legs. But I don’t. I won’t.

She crosses them, and I’m grateful.

I keep my expression neutral. I don’t acknowledge the last time we saw each other. Her, in the window. Me, watching.

She knows I’m thinking about it. She wants me to think about it.

The memory is still sharp. It should be, the way I’ve replayed it in my head since that night. But I won’t give her the satisfaction.

I shift in my seat, heat licking up my spine.

“What are you up to this weekend?” she asks from her perch.

“Not sure yet,” I say flatly.

She scoots over a few inches until her ankle brushes my arm—just barely, like a whisper, but it’s enough.

Tightness grows in my groin.

She tilts her head, watching me. “Wanna go somewhere?”

I give her a slow shrug. “Depends. What you thinkin’?”

“Maybe a road trip. Somewhere fun.” Her voice drops. “Just us.”

My throat dries out. Not even a swallow brings relief.

I should say no.

I should find out why she lied, and we need to talk about what happened the other night. I can’t leave town with her under these circumstances. It’s insane.

And yet…

I can see us on a beach.

In the water.

In the hotel room.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I say, already planning the drive.

“I figure we can talk,” she says, and now she’s speaking my language. “You’ve been wanting to do that. It’s time.”

She holds my gaze, waiting for a decision I made five minutes ago.

Her slow smile tells me she already knows, so I say, “Hilton Head.”

She nods, and I wonder what she’ll say if I offer to eat her pussy. It’s her fault; she put it right there in front of me. All she has to do is uncross them legs.

My eyes drop to her feet. Her sandals are thin ropes threaded through her toes and around her ankles. One tug of the end of the tie and I could have her toes in my mouth.

Fuck. Now I’m hard.

She stands, maybe because she saw it, or maybe because her work here is done.

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