Page 28 of The Stranger
When I don’t immediately make a move, she crosses the room and gently places the coffee down on my desk. “That is not the size I usually order,” I snap.
Her blue eyes are slightly narrowed as she replies, “You seemed more growly today, so I thought extra caffeine may help.”
I inhale a large breath, counting to ten in my head before turning and approaching my desk. If I’m not careful,this woman is going to give me a bloody aneurysm. I pick up the takeaway cup and take a sip of coffee. The moment it hits my tastebuds I know the size of my drink isn’t the only mistake she made. “Does this have sugar in it?”
Those blue orbs are everywhere but on me as she nibbles the corner of her plump bottom lip. “I thought you could use some sweetening up as well.”
“Sweetening up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You know, the growly thing.”
God, give me strength.
I arch an eyebrow. “You were given strict instructions on how I like my coffee, were you not? Is this the sort of behaviour I can expect from you going forward, Miss St. James?”
“I was showing initiative,” she counters, raising her chin.
I click my tongue and take a seat at my desk. “Well, don’t.” She continues to stand there, staring me down. “Sit,” I growl. A silent standoff ensues before she finally does as I ask. I rest my elbows on the desk and interlock my fingers. “Let’s talk about this ridiculous clause … and more importantly, why you thought it was a good idea to go directly to HR instead of coming to me.”
“It’s not ridiculous, and …”
“And what, Miss St. James?”
“I was mad at you.”
I untangle my fingers and tap the tip of my pointer finger on the desk ten times, again counting the numbers in my head. If it was anyone else sitting in front of me now, I’d probably be flying off the handle, but Damien said she seemed upset this morning, and the last thing Iwant to do is contribute to her unhappiness. This poor girl has been through enough.
“You’re mad at me because?” I have a fair idea why, but my mother said she seemed to enjoy her shopping expedition.
“I …” She turns her face away, but not before I see the tears rising in her eyes. “I … umm … want to pay you back for the clothes,” she says, her voice cracking.
“I can afford it, Delilah … you don’t need to pay me back.”
“Please,” she pleads, and the overwhelming sadness I see in her eyes when they meet mine again has me wanting to wrap her in my arms and protect her from all the ugliness.
Instead, I nod my head once. “If it means that much to you, then we can work something out.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she says, standing.
“Where are you going?”
“I have work to do.”
“Delilah,” I say as she turns to leave. “I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark, but please know the clothes came from a good place.”
I’ve never met a woman who didn’t love being showered with pretty things, but I’m quickly learning that Delilah St. James is like nobody I’ve ever known. A complete paradox to all the others. She’s a combination of sassy and sweet, with an air of innocence that I find so damn appealing.
She pauses briefly, then glances at me over her shoulder to murmur, “Thank you.”
When she refaces forward and continues towards the door, my eyes involuntarily move down the length of her body. She’s so petite, but that round, peachy little arse of hers in those tightfitting slacks has all the blood in mybody rushing straight to my cock. Thankfully, I smother down the groan that’s permeating in the back of my throat.
Jailbait, Prescott,I remind myself for the umpteenth time.
I’m already feeling like a lowlife for upsetting her, so my unwelcome reaction to that sinful body of hers only amplifies that sense of guilt. This is why I never let emotions get in the way of business, but I already know I’m in over my head with this one.
