Page 16 of Handling the CEO

Jon looks at me, stunned, just as he pulls the car over in front of my driveway. I peek through my fingers at him.

“Come on—say something,” I prod, really wanting to know what he thinks.

“Let me get this straight.” He runs his fingers through his hair, finding his words. “You... Carrie Underwood-ed him?”

Those were not the words I thought he would say, but they were exactly what I needed, and that puts a shy smile on my face.

“Yes, I have indeed Carrie Underwood-ed him, though she sang about a slightly different revenge,” I comment and take a deep breath. “In case you were wondering, I did not get convicted as it was my name on the car deed—I give great presents. I didn’t even spend a night in jail either, not even a mug shot—to my sister’s disappointment. The police were quite understanding, but it was absolutely mortifying.”

The silence in the SUV is oppressive as he just stares out the window. I am thinking I should probably get out of there when, out of nowhere, Jon starts snickering. Then he gets louder and louder as he is on a full-on belly laugh. That loud, warming laugh I have been avoiding admitting I have been longing to hear again ever since that day at Marcus’s shop.

“Oh, my gosh! Stop laughing! It was really embarrassing with the police at my door! The look on their faces! When I showed them the pink slip of the car, they just stared at me with some very judgemental looks and left.”

But he doesn’t stop. I don’t think he can stop and then I start giggling as well, then I can’t check myself either and burst into laughter as well. Just like that, we are two idiots laughing in a car on a Saturday night.

And it feels… right.

I feel... wonderful.

As our fit of laughter dies down eventually, we end up staring at each other across the console and then the silence morphs. From oppression into intensity. Intensity into heat. Heat into connection.

Jon moves first, gently taking my face in his large hands, running his thumb over my lower lip, and looking at me like I am Christmas morning. I do not dare breathe as I stare into his green eyes, wanting him more than I wanted anything. The first touch of his lips on mine is light, almost worshiping me. Like he craves to savor this moment of peace between us, of quiet and reverence.

Again and again, he kisses me softly, lips only, my face still cradled just how he wants me, tasting me. Minutes or years go by. Just feeling his mouth on mine, his soft beard against my skin, the heat of his hands on my face, the wetness between my legs from just these chaste kisses. Only when I run my fingers through his soft wavy hair, pulling him closer to me as much as the console between us allows, do I feel his tongue demanding entry to my mouth.

I part my lips and then, with a low rumble through his chest, he starts properly kissing me. His tongue dances with mine as he angles my head for better access. Wishing there was no boundary between us, my tongue delves in, exploring his mouth, as he does mine. The only sounds in the car are of our pants and moans as we kiss and kiss, not touching more than our faces, but even just this—it is just glorious. It’s falling off an edge or reaching the peak of a mountain. Full of danger and promise and wonder and hotter than any kiss I ever had or probably ever will have.

Jon breaks away first, his forehead resting on mine. I am gasping, drunk on the feeling of his lips. His breathing is erratic as well and for a moment we just stay frozen, woozy, intoxicated on each other.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers, fracturing the magic. “You work for me—I can’t do this.” Abruptly, and leaving me reeling, he gets out of the car and comes and opens my door.

I manage to get out, unable to fully understand what is happening as my brain is mush.

“Jon—I am confused.” Understatement of the year.

“I'm sorry,” he apologizes for the wrong reason. “I need to go now before I throw you over my shoulder and drag you inside.”

My vagina thinks that sounds pretty great but before I manage to verbalize it, my caveman wraps the back of my neck with his big hand and kisses me again.

Jon mumbles “Last time,” as he conquers me with his punishing touch and holds me like wants to brand me.

I am weak in the knees when he leaves me disoriented in front of my house as he gets back in his Range Rover. I press on my lips as he looks at me longingly, but then restarts the car and drives off, and all I think is ‘what the fuck’.

I get a second ‘what the fuck’ moment later in the night, tossing and turning in my bed trying to quench a need no vibrator can fix when I realize—I thought of him as ‘my’ caveman.

DJ

Tuesdaymorning,Ididn’tgo to say ‘hello’ to Jon, the infuriating, maddening hunk. If the annoying jerk thinks he can just leave me literally soaked on my driveway and then run away, he has another thing coming to him. I head straight into the IT office downstairs and close the door, continuing to recover my software, but mostly banging my fingers on the keyboard and not thinking about him at all. Not at all.

***

Marcus and Laura made fun of me Sunday at lunch, as I was still fuming.

“So, what got your panties in a twist? Or shall I say... who?” My younger sibling was inclined to needle me.

“How about you mind your own business before I tell mamá you don’t want to go out with her friend Marisol’s niece?” I countered, knowing my brother’s disdain for getting arm-twisted into going on set-ups. My mom wants to find us all partners, but after Laura’s husband’s death and my divorce, her only target is poor Marcus. Obviously, every tía seems to know a ‘nice girl’ willing to date him.

“Ooof,” he laughed. “I see someone is bringing out the big guns! I may tell her myself—I am so tired of all the awkward dates, really. Seriously now, are you OK?”

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