Page 50 of Drunk on Love

She glanced around her desk, and then jumped up.

“Oh no, I think I left my phone behind the bar. Let me grab it now, before everything gets busy again.”

Luke straightened up as she walked toward her office door. Then, in one quick move, he closed the door.

“What are you—” Her voice died out as she looked up at him.

He put a hand against the wall next to her head, trapping her against the wall with his body. Like he’d done that night. She knew she could get around him, open the door, and leave. But she didn’t want to. The proximity to him was intoxicating.

He wasn’t touching her, but he looked at her with such heat in his eyes that it felt like his hands were all over her.

She looked back at him. This was a bad idea. She had to leave.

She didn’t move.

“Margot.” He said her name in a low voice, a voice she hadn’t heard since that night. “Please tell me you think about that night, like I do. Am I alone in this? Because, my God, I think about it all the time. I think about you all the time. I can’t be the only one who feels this, can I? Sometimes—most of the time—I think I am. And then, every so often, you look at me in a way that makes me think I’m not. Tell me I’m not. Tell me you want me.”

He held her gaze. She wanted to look away, to deny it all, but she couldn’t.

“I can’t tell you that,” she said.

“Can’t, or won’t? Can you not tell me that because it’s not true, because you don’t want me? Or do you just not want to say it?”

If only it weren’t true.

“I can’t tell you that because I’m your boss,” she said in a low voice. “I can’t tell you that because that night never should have happened.”

She wished she weren’t breathing so fast.

He shook his head, but his eyes never left hers.

“You know that’s not true,” he said.

God, he was so close to her. She wanted to reach for him so badly. She let her eyelids flutter shut. Maybe it would be easier to move away from him if she couldn’t see him. But no, this was worse. Now she could feel the warmth coming from his body, so close to hers. She could feel his breath on her face. She could smell him, that smell she remembered from that night, that fresh soap smell, combined with his own body scent. She breathed it in and smiled. Now he smelled a little bit like wine, too.

She could hear him, breathing as fast as she was.

She opened her eyes. He was still looking straight at her.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“You know the answer to that question,” she said.

A smile touched his lips.

“I didn’t, when I came in here. But I do now.” He moved closer to her. “So tell me. Tell me you want me.”

She tried to look away from him, but she couldn’t.

“Why? You know it.”

His eyes finally left hers, but it was only to look, slowly, up and down her body. He lingered on her hips, her breasts, her lips, before he looked her in the eye again.

“Because I want to hear you say it,” he said. “I want to think about it. Later.”

She shouldn’t do this. She knew she shouldn’t. But that last thing he said broke her. God, she wanted him to think about her later.

“I want you,” she said.

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