Page 61 of Only the Devil
“It would be,” she says, agreeing with me quietly. She’s not dazed. I read that wrong earlier. She’s introspective, thoughtful. “He brought up my mom. I hadn’t mentioned her, which means he did some homework.”
“Was it like a threat?” I push up, taking her in, but she’s still sitting back, semi-dazed, all peaceful-like.
“No…I don’t think so. More like he knew she was broke and I could change her life. It was more like he wanted to remind me of the value of the salary.”
She heard him, not me, so I can’t argue with her perception, but I can mention what I observed. “Sterling was eyeing you like a piece of prime real estate this morning. You catch that?”
She grins. “Is someone jealous?”
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with more than professional concern. I should deny it. Should keep this conversation about the job. Instead, I find myself really looking at her—the way her eyes sparkle with playfulness, how her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip.
“Should I be?” The words slip out without my placing too much thought in them. “He was definitely checking out your ass.”
She pushes up and stands, sliding her hand over the curve of her ass, bending one knee like a pinup from some vintage magazine. “This ass?”
My mouth goes dry. She’s playing with fire, and we both know it. I let my gaze travel the length of her body, taking in every curve, every line.
“No. There’s nothing to be jealous of.” She giggles and shakes her head. “He’s not into me like that.”
I roll my eyes. I’m not playing that game. “Yes. He is. And you clearly know you’re mighty fine.”
“Hm. I think I like this protective side of yours.”
She’s right. I am naturally protective. But it’s more than that now, and after last night, we both know it.
“It’s good you like it,” I say, but my voice betrays me—rough with want that’s anything but professional. “Problem is, you make it hard to be anything but protective.”
The admission hangs like a live wire.
She downs the last of her beer and places the empty by her ankle. Then she’s moving toward me with deliberate intent, and the rational part of my brain screams that the protective emotions don’t mesh with a merely physical thing.
It’s not just that I’m mixing business with pleasure. I’m letting my guard down. Feeling something for a temporary situation.
But when she straddles me, settling her weight across my lap, all those rational thoughts scatter like smoke.
I set my beer to the side and rest my hands on her hips, my thumbs tracing small circles against the bare skin where her top has ridden up.
We’re crossing lines here. Hell, we obliterated the lines. And I should care more about that than I do.
“He gives me the ick. There’s no reason for jealousy. I promise.”
I swallow, looking past her at the horizon.
Was I jealous earlier today? Hell fucking yeah, but I don’t like admitting it.
“You had a shit day, huh?” Her fingers trail my beard, tugging my gaze back to her.
There’s no real denying the day blew. I could tell her more about what Noah found, but it’s all more of the same and there’s no need to rain on her million-dollar parade.
She rocks her hips over my groin and my semi goes full mast. I lift the hem of her faded tee to touch her smooth skin and glide upwards, cupping her breasts.
“No bra?”
I suspected as much but fuck if it isn’t a turn on to discover them bare.
She leans forward, teeth nipping at my ear, her hot breath tantalizing as she says, “Tell you what…let me make your day better.”
Her words are my undoing. Any distance I thought I’d maintain, all the reasons this is a bad idea, even my piss-poor mood—none of it matters. There’s just her, and the way she makes me feel like I’m more than just broken parts with medical discharge papers. She makes me feel wanted—appreciated.
