So I force her to. “Why?”
She sighs, looking over her shoulder to the man waiting for her.
I’m up from my chair in a heartbeat. “Him? Home to him?” She can’t be serious. She’s with someone? What about all the other men?
She swings around, shocked. “No.”
My body softens in relief. “Then why?”
“Just because,” she spits, her cute little jaw ticking not so cutely, her eyes blazing. “You have no place in my personal life, Mr. Christianson.”
I laugh. “No, but I had a place in your fucking pussy on Friday night, and I didn’t hear you complaining then.”
Her face is a picture of disgust as she lunges for me and slaps a hand over my mouth. The instant contact of her body pushed to mine is far more effective in shutting me up than her hand over my big trap. The resistance being locked down so I don’t grab her is overwhelming, making me shake where I stand. She’s shaking too, but she endures the tangible sparks bouncing between us. That fucking itch just got worse.
I swallow. She swallows. And we stare. And every reason why I can’t get her out of my head powers forward, more intense than before. The chemistry. The intrigue. The fire. She can’t possibly deny it. But I can’t bear the fact that I know, without question or doubt, that she will. Her hand slowly peels away, and she steps back, giving me space that I immediately want to fill with her body again. “We overstepped the mark,” she whispers, glancing away. “You caught me at a weak moment.”
“I didn’t catch you at all, Lainey,” I remind her. “You came to me.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“But you did.”
“And now I’m scared that my job will be compromised. I’m scared Sal will find out. Or anyone at work, for that matter.”
“Who are all the men I’ve seen you with?” I divert from her worries, because to me they aren’t worries. No one will find out.
“I’m a single woman.” Her shoulders straighten in an act of strength I’m so not buying. “I can date who I like, when I like.”
Ouch. Well that fucking stings.
“Anyway.” She laughs, keeping her eyes on me. Determined eyes. It doesn’t bode well. “You’re Ty Christianson. Everyone knows Ty Christianson doesn’t get attached, so I’m safe from being hounded, right?”
I shrink. And the sting stings more. Yeah, technically, that’s true. Everyone knows. “Who said anything about hounding?” I ask, scrambling to claw back some self-respect. “I’m curious, that’s all.” I shrug and step away.
“Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Mr. Christianson.” She raises teasing eyebrows. “Just let me get on with my job and you get on with yours. Forget about it. We did what needed to be done.” She backs away, seeming truly confident, rather than the nervous waif I found at that table. What’s changed?
“We sure did that,” I mumble, reliving every second of Friday night as she backs away, her hair glimmering like a fucking angel’s in the strong sunrays.
She smiles. And there go my knees again. “You weren’t bad.”
I cough. “Excuse me?”
“Okay, you’re in my top ten.”
I’m in her top ten? Just stick a fucking stake in my heart, why don’t you? “Thanks,” I grunt. How many have there been?
Lainey’s smile widens, like she’s privy to my secret question—the question I refuse to ever ask. “See you at work.” She turns and jogs off.
The sight of her arse barely covered by her tennis skirt as she runs could kill me off, so I turn away and take stock. Or try to. She plays the field? Or dates, as she so eloquently puts it. We did what needed to be done. Just get on with my job, like she said. I should be relieved and grateful that she’s not firing accusations of harassment at me. She seems quite willing to put it behind us and move on. It couldn’t be any easier.
If I didn’t fucking think of her every second of the fucking day.
“Damn it, Ty,” I breathe, falling into the chair. This is technically the perfect outcome. I need to forget about it. I need to get back out there and pick up where I left off before Lainey Summer landed at Christianson Walker and knocked me off balance. “I can do that,” I tell myself out loud. Well, it seems I have no choice, do I?
I’m the fool who keeps dating highly unsuitable men.
Her words.
Looks like I was Friday night’s unsuitable romp, she possibly enjoyed an unsuitable Saturday squeeze, and Doug is her unsuitable Sunday dalliance.
Clearly there’s no choice at all.MY ARSE IS NUMB FROM sitting in my chair all day long. I haven’t ventured farther than my office, and it has nothing to do with my ego being bruised yesterday. I’m busy, that’s all. My heart hasn’t jumped every time my office door has opened, and my mind hasn’t been replaying the scene at the tennis club yesterday. And if I happen to bump into her around the office, I’ll be civil and professional, and, like she said, pretend it never happened. Itch scratched.