“Okay, Clarissa, I know what you must be thinking,” I begin, holding my hands up defensively.
“Here’s your lunch,” she growls, tossing the bag on the counter. Then she whirls around and stomps off.
I sense that people in the office are vaguely aware that something is going on. As I pass the cubicles, there is a definite vibration in the air. People casting their eyes sideways. A few whispers. A few deliberate pivots as I walk past.
But in my office, mostly what I’m thinking about is Clarissa. Work is spread out over the conference table, her pregnant younger sister is hiding in an office across from me, and the lunch she picked up for me is in my hand. That woman definitely has a lot going on. And I still keep managing to stumble into her way. It would be funny if it weren’t so unfunny.
The pesto salad she picked up for me is delicious. Marinated mushrooms and artichoke hearts. Olives and feta cheese, dressed in oil and blended herbs. Lots of protein, few carbs. And no red onions, because she knows I don’t like those.
Quite thoughtful, really.
When she knocks on the door, I happen to be smiling, but her expression is not happy. She closes the door behind her before striding toward the conference table, her hands into fists at her sides.
“Landry is taking a nap!”
I’m not sure what to say. “All right. That’s… good?”
Her cheeks are red, and a curl of her hair has slipped from its clip and bounces over her cheekbone.
“She’s tired, okay?”
“Okay.”
I’m not sure what we are arguing about. She’s whisper-shouting at me, but these are not things that need to be kept a secret, are they? I don’t get it.
“Just who do you think you are!”
Oh, okay. Here we go.
I raise my hands to show I mean her no harm. “She just started talking to me, Clarissa. I think she just wanted someone to talk to.”
“That is what I am here for! That is my job!”
“I absolutely understand that,” I venture, keeping my tone even.
“Lower your voice!” she whisper-yells.
“I absolutely understand that,” I correct myself in a whisper.
“I don’t want your interference, all right?” she continues, so quietly that I have to lean in to really hear her. “Thank you for the ride and everything, but we don’t need you getting in the middle of this. We will be fine! I know how to take care of her!”
I am sure that she does. I am getting the impression that Clarissa could take care of everything. And that she has, for a really long time.
But as she is standing there, furious with me to the point of irrationality, all I can do is think about kissing her again. All I can do is think about taking her by her trembling shoulders and quieting her rage by covering her mouth with mine. Before I know it, I am doing just that.
And the kiss is intense. Her body is stiff in my arms as my hands hold her shoulders. But she tips her chin toward mine the moment that I approach her. She groans in her throat, acknowledging the heat that has sparked between us. The taste of her tongue against mine sets off a deep hunger in me, one that is not going to be so easily ignored.
Twisting, she pulls away and covers her mouth with the back of her hand. Outrage flashes in her eyes.
“You must be kidding me!” she hisses. “Stop playing games with me, Maxwell!”
She begins to storm out, but pauses before the door to brush her hair behind her ears. She doesn’t want to leave in a huff and set off more rounds of whispers and rumors. Like a magician or an actress, she completely changes as soon as she crosses into the hallway, back into the professional maven that everyone knows.
But I know how she felt here, just moments ago. She felt like a woman in my arms. She felt like an answer to a question. She felt like something I very much need to feel again.
Chapter 12
Clarissa