“Yes.”
Careful not to touch him, she slipped into the hallway, making him feel as if he’d been the one to take advantage of her instead of the other way around. Not that he felt at a disadvantage, he thought as he swaggered toward his office. When he got there he found her hastily shoving papers into her canvas bag.
“Just so you know”—he straightened a stack of drawings and offered it to her—“I wanted to kiss you, too.”
“You promised!” She pointed the papers at him accusingly.
“I know.” She turned and he caught her elbow. “How about we deal with it now and we won’t be uncomfortable later?”
She looked at him like he’d offered her a liver and Limburger cheese sandwich.
Finally, she said, “Okay.”
He gestured to the sofa and she sat. He kept his distance, sitting on the opposite arm. The situation would only get messier if they didn’t just say the truth. Here went nothing.
“I find you more attractive than I should given my…position,” he said reluctantly. She squirmed. “But I promise it won’t interfere at work.” He dipped his chin. “Your turn.”
“My turn to what?” she asked, eyes wide.
He blew out a soft laugh. She was entirely too appealing when her cheeks pinked with embarrassment. “Your turn to be honest. Come on, hit me. I can handle it.”
She clenched the strap of her bag, and for a second he wondered if she’d taken him literally and was about to brain him with it. Then a sober look crossed her face.
“I think you have the nicest lips I’ve ever seen,” she said. “And felt.”
He gulped. Her blush deepened. He struggled to keep his expression neutral as his hormones lined up to do the conga.
“But I can control my impulses,” she finished.
He tried to speak but couldn’t. His tongue was Gorilla-Glued to the roof of his mouth. He repressed the sudden urge to dump the water bottle on his desk over his head. You have the nicest lips I’ve ever felt. And here he was, getting her to agree never to do it again.
Moron, party of one.
“See?” His voice cracked on the word and he cleared his throat. “Now we can put it behind us.”
Chapter 13
Crickitt made it through the next several days without locking lips with her boss. By then, she had labeled The Kiss as circumstantial, ebbing from sleep deprivation and/or proximity. Shane was a distraction, a preoccupation she hadn’t counted on, and becoming increasingly hard to resist.
They opted not to work in his home office over the weekend. The August Industries building was much more convenient…and far less distracting. Since then, he’d seemed remarkably unaffected. Which was a little disconcerting. Did rogue kisses from new employees happen often? Was it outlined in the employee handbook?
Shane breezed into her office, wavy hair styled against his head, his face cleanly shaven. Cool, crisp cologne wafted around her, and Crickitt pressed her knees together under the desk.
“I’m late,” he announced, sliding one sleeve aside to look at his watch.
“No, you’re not. Your meeting with Ms. LaRouche is at ten.”
He lifted his eyebrows in challenge. “She called late last night and bumped it to eight thirty.”
“Oh.” Crickitt yanked her eyes from his face to check the clock on her computer screen. “You’re right. You’re late.”
“Tell me you know enough to give me a five-minute breakdown?”
She did. Last night after work, she read all about Lori LaRouche’s line of mineral makeup and skin care products. Crickitt gestured for Shane to sit. He did, but only after another nervous glance at his watch.
“LaRouche Skin Care is a complete line featuring everything from alpha hydroxyl cleansers to easy-to-remove mascara.” Crickitt paused in her reading to look up.
His brow furrowed.
“Do you need me to come with you?” she asked, the offer more appealing now that she’d said it aloud. “Being a woman, I’m quite familiar with products like toner, glycolic gel, and day-to-night moisturizer.” And, being a woman, she was also quite familiar with the way Shane attracted members of the opposite sex like static cling.
He shook his head. “No, thanks. I can handle it. Makeup or motor oil, business is business. But I will take your notes,” he said, standing.
His cell phone rang and he extracted it from a pocket. After a clipped “August,” he eased into a smile. “We were just talking about you,” he said, charm bubbling over like a brimming glass of champagne.