Page 37 of Close to the Edge

Warmth.

The memory of it was ephemeral—the contented seven-year-old tucked in her mother’s arms with no clue that a mother’s love could be temporary like everything else.

You’re truly losing it.

I slammed the door and shook my head.

Like the outbound journey, neither of us spoke as we drove back to SDM but I knew I had to say something as he pulled up into my parking space.

I undid my seat belt, faced him and opened my mouth. He grabbed me and pulled me across the center console.

“I know it’s insane, and we’ll both probably regret it, but fuck, I need to kiss you again,” he breathed roughly against my mouth.

Before I could take a breath, his tongue slid into my mouth. Wet and insistent and carnal. It was the dirtiest promise of sex I’d ever known. Over and above every inappropriate sexual thing he’d said to me since we met, it was that decadent slide of his tongue against mine that did me in. My hands returned to dig into his waist, my torso straining across the small space to slide against his.

He banded one hand around my waist and lifted me over to his side. And just like that the heat of his cock was a living thing against my ass, announcing its insistent virility. I moaned, half-ashamed at how easily I’d fallen into the kiss, half-fearful of his sensual power over me.

Slowly, that fear built, insidiously reminding me that this was no longer my default setting. I was so close to true freedom for the first time in my life. I couldn’t become a slave to my hormones or my emotions.

I pushed at Caleb’s chest before the hand sneaking up my waist could cup my breast. “Stop!”

He froze immediately.

I took a breath. “Let me go.”

He stared at me for a full minute, his chest rising and falling in harsh pants. Then his hands dropped from my body.

I hopped over into my seat, struggling with my own breathing.

“Jesus,” he swore under his breath, slammed his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. After tense seconds he opened them. “I’m...” He stopped and gritted his teeth. “Hell, I suppose you want an apology?” Before I could answer, he continued, “You’re not going to get one because I’m not sorry. You, with that tight, gorgeous body and that bruised, ripe mouth, are fucking irresistible,” he growled.

My lungs deflated in a giddy rush. Heat spiked through my blood, and my panties grew shamelessly damper. Every atom in my body strained to jump into his lap and continue where we’d left off. I curled my nails into my palms until tiny bites of pain brought a little clarity.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to resist.”

To my surprise, he nodded. “Understood.”

My jaw threatened to drop. I caught myself, then shifted my gaze from his face. Now I’d successfully drawn the line, I didn’t know what to do next.

He answered by stepping out and escorting me inside.

In my office, he calmly returned to the sofa. While I spent the next hour rewriting the same code.

I called it a night at six. He drove us home after stopping to pick up the takeout I’d ordered.

Over dinner, he asked me a bunch of work-related questions, probing my routines and those of my team. Any trace of the fever that overtook us in the restaurant and the parking lot was wiped from his features as he listened and made notes on his laptop.

Just before nine, he sat back in his chair, his eyes on his screen. “That’s enough for today. I’ll see what I can dig up with this info.” His tone was impersonal as he stood and picked up the plates and empty cartons. He helped clean up and stack the dishwasher, maintaining a chilly distance that made my stomach muscles tighten.

You wanted this. Professional distance is good.

When we were done, I turned to leave.

“Remember, you need to let me know if you’re going outside,” he said.

My face felt stiff so I didn’t even attempt a smile. “I haven’t forgotten.”

He stared at me for a beat then nodded.

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