Page 45 of Black Ties and White Lies

Which makes my excuses for why Beck and I can’t give into the sexual tension for us weaker and weaker.

I’m getting attached to him no matter what, even if we haven’t kissed again after that day in the dressing room over a month ago. Things haven’t been completely innocent with us either. Looks have lingered at home and here at work. We both have come up with excuses to spend more and more time together. The only time we spend apart is if he has meetings that I’m not needed for or when we both go to separate beds at night.

I’m wondering how much longer I can last. His advances continue. Beck isn’t shy about making it clear what he wants—me. At least for the next year. And I’m running out of reasons to deny him.

A flashing notification at the top corner of my desktop computer has pulled me from my imaginations of all thefunBeck and I could have if I wasn’t so set in my ways.

I open the email, noticing it’s from Beck. My eyes flick to the glass window in front of me. From it, I can clearly see out into the conference room where he sits through a presentation from one of his heads of development. Except when I look at him, he isn’t watching the presentation on the screen. He’s staring right at me.

I instantly look away like I’d been caught reaching into the cookie jar. Metaphorically, I guess youcouldcall it me reaching into the cookie jar when I know I’m not supposed to. The cookie jar in this instance is just Beck’s dirty, teasing emails.

My eyes track over his email, trying not to show too much of a reaction knowing he still might be watching me.

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Should I be jealous? You’ve been staring at your computer monitor with a smile on your face for thirty minutes now. Now you’re crossing your legs. What are you looking at, Violet?

Focus on me.

Beck

My cheeks twitch as I fight a smile. An idea pops into my head. One that has no business being there, but one I can’t resist. My focus stays pinned on the keyboard in front of me as I type out a response.

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Make me.

I’m busy feeling proud of myself, addicted to the thrill of the cat and mouse game Beck and I have going on when my office door is slammed—loudly. Looking up, I find an angry-eyed Beck staring at me.

“Miss Moretti.” He keeps his voice steady despite the deep, gravelly tone to it.

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair?”

Beck looks over his shoulder, out the glass windows that everyone can see into it. It isn’t hard to miss the curious eyes that are pretending not to watch the both of us in here. It’s like being in a fishbowl. With the dangerous glint to Beck’s eyes right now, I’m not sure I’m thankful that all my coworkers can see in right now, or if I hate that they can.

“Do you think it’s cute to send emails that get my blood pumping damn well knowing I can’t act on it.”

I sit back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other as I look up and down his towering form. There’s an angry set to his shoulders. His jaw is clenched so tight I’m wondering if he’s grinding his teeth down in the process. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I run the top of my pen over my lip, knowing exactly where I’m drawing his attention with the movement.

“Maybe I should bend you over this desk right now and punish you for punishing me.”

I stick the pen between my teeth, smiling around it at him. “In front of all your employees?” My tongue clicks. “Something tells me HR would think that’s averybad idea.”

His nostrils flare as he watches me closely. He takes his time answering me. It’s like he can read my mind, knowing that his silence—mixed with his menacing stare—is enough to make me squirm.

My stomach drops when he runs his thumb over his bottom lip before it turns up in a sinister smile. “God, it’ll be so good when I finally have you on your knees. Maybe I’ll punish you just as much as you’ve punished me.”

Before I can respond, he straightens his back. He takes a step closer, his eyes flicking to my computer screen. I hastily try to close out of the tabs that show me re-reading all of our old messages. The smile that had my skin prickling with intense need has disappeared, his mask he uses for work back into place.

“Tell me, how do you feel about Colorado?”

My eyebrows pinch together on my forehead in confusion. “Excuse me?”

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