“Yes, Tessa. I heard it all,” he confesses, distress in his voice. He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck. His dark eyes gaze down at me with unreadable emotions swirling in them. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. “Get in the car.”
Great. This should be a fun ride back to the city.
15
Barclay
After Tessa finally gets into the car, I round the trunk and lean against the door I should be opening, but I can’t just yet. I take a few deep breaths, because I need time to process one monumental fact: she’s a virgin. The word burns into my brain. My mind spins a million different scenarios knowing she wants me naked and has never slept with anyone.
And how’s my traitorous body reacting to both realties? I’m as hard as the granite stone driveway under my feet.
If I use the head on top of my shoulders, which is usually the case when it comes to women, I’ll ask Lawrence to drive her back to the city, alone, without me. Then I’ll order an Uber or walk to the train station a couple miles away to let off some steam.
I pace beside the car, rubbing the back of my neck. I need to stay away from her at all costs. The idea of us together isn’t just about age anymore. Hell, I’ve never been with a virgin, even back in my school days. She needs someone who can commit to her beyond one night or a few days while she’s here in the city.
She’s the kind of girl a guy brings home to meet his mother, and mine would love her too. There’s no way I can fuck a virgin—and that’s all it would be.
Even after admitting I’m definitely not that man for her, I find myself grabbing the door handle and getting in the damn car. I’m thinking with the wrong part of my body. In one quick move I’m sitting next to her in the backseat, my eyes trained ahead of me, but I see her in my periphery. Golden hair and creamy long legs pop against the black leather interior. A man would have to be blind to miss her.
“Lawrence, we’re ready to head back to the office.” I fix my seatbelt and straighten my jacket. They’re simple memory movements that should settle my rapid pulse and distract me from Tessa—and her virginity and desire to see me naked—but my heart keeps pounding away.
“Yes, Mr. Hammond.” My driver starts the car and eases it down the long driveway. I want to yell at him to press the gas pedal and get this vehicle moving. Instead, I tap a finger rhythmically against my thigh.
All my senses are on high alert in the tight confines of the car. I lean back against the leather headrest, making a futile attempt to handle the proximity of the blonde bombshell next to me.
I’m trapped as her fragrant perfume floats around me like a siren’s song. I fight the crazy urge to pull her closer and inhale her scent. I crave the feel of her soft and delicate thighs. I’m drowning in her presence, yet I don’t take off my jacket to cover her legs. I want to feast on them one last time, even if it’s pure torture.
I try to convince myself I’m protecting her, but is that true? Or could I be guarding myself from her? It would take nothing for me to get lost in the curves of her body and never come up for air.
I close my eyes and imagine her legs wrapped around me. Our lips pressed together. Tongues. Hell, I better stop this train of thought, because I have no will power concerning her. All she has to do is ask, and I’d be hers.
“Barclay,” she whispers, breaking our game of silence. I jerk when she touches my fisted hand resting on the leather seat between us. “It’s really okay if I call you that now?”
“Sure, Tessa. You’re not my employee.”
When I turn toward her and our eyes lock, she steals my breath away. Her big baby blues beg for me to let her in, like she’s searching for the smallest fissure in my heart. But I can only stay on the surface with her. Anything else will remove the last bit of control I possess.
“Then we can start over and be friends?” she asks. Her voice is tender and seeking. “Pretend you didn’t hear everything. I’m humiliated beyond belief.”
She doesn’t deny what she said, but Don warned me it was impossible for me to be her friend. I’ll prove him wrong. I can handle a friendly conversation for an hour-long drive back to the office. It’s a piece of cake, though bringing her Saturday night to the dinner is completely out of the question.