Page 4 of Flame
She fascinates me.
The woman is wildly intelligent. Watching her bring a boardroom of men to their knees is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. She’s curious and confident yet humble and kind. And she doesn’t give a damn about what she should and shouldn’t do. She does what she wants.
Unfortunately, that can’t be me.
Bianca looks up. Her green eyes shine when they connect with mine.
Shit.
“Hey,” she says, mouthing the word from across the room.
I struggle to remain unaffected, but the corners of my lips lift. She notices. She always finds the chink in my armor. A smile creeps over her pink pout, hitting me directly in the cock.
Get yourself together, Carmichael.
“Going once, going twice—a date with Miguel is sold to Mrs. Daniels for twelve hundred dollars!” Gloria announces.
My brows pull together as Jason, Bianca’s brother and my best friend—my only friend—enters the building. His solemn expression is replaced with amusement as he realizes what he’s about to witness.
I flash him a pointed look to watch himself. It only makes him laugh.
Maybe I don’t like him either.
“Next up is Colin,” Gloria says. “Let’s start the bidding at five hundred. Do I see six?”
Jason and Bianca take a seat in the back row. He folds his hands on his lap like he’s settling in for a show. She takes a bid paddle from the raffle ticket lady.
This is the nail in Banksy’s coffin.
“I have six,” Gloria says. “Do I see seven?”
Bianca’s eyes find mine again.
“There’s seven. Do I have eight?” Gloria asks.
Bianca lifts a brow, pressing her lips together.
What does that mean? Do you want a date with Colin?
As if she reads my mind, she raises her paddle.
I raise a brow back.
“There’s eight. Do I have nine?” Gloria asks the room.
Bianca shrugs innocently, daring me to react. But I don’t. And I won’t.
She might get under my skin like no one I’ve met before, but I refuse to cross that line.
I was the lead on her security detail for two and a half years, and for two and a half years the woman whittled away at my restraint. It’s impossible to resist her. Her little smile and the way her nose wrinkles when she’s being cheeky. Her penchant for burgers and vanilla shakes. Her perfume and her ability to wear a T-shirt and cocktail dress with the same understated elegance.
The way she says my name.
Our relationship shifted over time. It began strictly professionally before transitioning to more of a friendship. And then, during the past six months, we were toeing a line that shouldn’t be crossed.
Conversations weren’t strictly business. Smiles were exchanged when no one was looking. Our touches lingered long after contact should’ve been broken.
I wasn’t thinking of her as my boss. I was thinking about her bent over her desk. I was imagining her in my bed wearing my T-shirt. I had visions of her in my truck, her hand in mine, doing mundane tasks like running errands.
