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Tell me why that’s a turn-on. Don’t get me wrong, I like sex, maybe more than I should, but I’m not into super kinky shit. Why, all of a sudden, I appeared to be kinked in the direction of an office, I couldn’t say.
“You get many visitors here? Client meetings, whatever.”
Nic shakes his head. “Maybe a handful a week. I try to schedule them for mornings only. Usually, it’s just me and Natalie here.”
All that time alone with her, and they’re not together? Yeah, sure, they’re professionals, but this is Natalie.
It’s all too easy to picture him sprawled out on that couch, his back to the window, all upscale indulgence as he lets his lover go to work on their knees before him.
Jesus. Get a grip, Finn.
“I’ve seen enough,” I say. Nic follows me back out to Natalie’s desk. “I’ll stay up here to watch the door, unless there’s something you need from me. We’ll keep the office door locked if it isn’t already. Let me know your schedule each day. I’ll ID your clients outside as they’re expected. I’d also like to have a word with your building security manager.”
Nic nods as though he’s already thought of this, looking at Natalie. “He’s scheduled for my ten a.m.” She taps on the computer and nods once in confirmation.
“Good,” I say. Efficient. I suspected he would be, that both of them would be.
Eight hours later, that fact has been confirmed a hundred times over. Nic and Natalie are a well-oiled machine, and I definitely have an office kink. If it weren’t for the potential threat to these people, it would have been one hell of a distraction. The threat appears minimal, but Nic hired me to keep them safe, especially Natalie, and I’ll be damned if I let my dick get in the way of something so important. Sex can wait until after hours.
But Tuesday night can’t come fast enough.
9
NIC
When I leave my apartment Tuesday morning, Finn is standing in front of his own apartment, hands in his pockets.
“Good morning,” he says.
“What are you doing out here?” His lips quirk, and I realize I’m being rude. “Good morning, Finn. Nice weather we’re having. What are you doing out here?”
“I’m supposed to be guarding you. Makes more sense for us to ride in together, all things considered.”
“You’re not guarding me; you’re providing security for my office. What if I’m not coming straight home today?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve got plans tonight. I’ll find my own way.” Whatever it is, it’s clearly something awesome. Finn’s anticipation is palpable.
Spending more time in close proximity with a hot, straight man is not what I need right now, but he’s right; it does make sense.
“Fine. But I’m driving.”
“I get to ride in the Audi? Sweet.” That gets an actual smile out of him, and damn. Just damn it all to hell. The only other person my body’s paid attention to in the last year; why the hell does it have to be this guy?
Sliding into the car, he makes appreciative noises over the leather, the console, and the design, and while I fully agree with him—I bought this car for all those reasons, it’s nice to hear somebody else appreciates them, too—I cannot stop thinking of the sound he made when he opened the door and ran his hand over the leather. It was a cross between a groan and a growl, like a revving engine, like sex itself. I spend the next fifteen minutes navigating traffic with minimum attention, far more focused on keeping my dick under control. His shoulders take up more than his share of space in the compact cabin, brushing mine every time I shift gears. His eyes drift to the gear stick, and I realize I’m stroking the fucking thing like a cock.
“We’re here.”
“Easy there, boss,” he says when I whip into my parking spot with more enthusiasm than necessary. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”
I snort. “You’re not seriously talking about my car right now.”
He pats the armrest before opening the door. “I am absolutely talking about this beautiful thing. She’s a work of art. If you don’t take care of her, somebody else will.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I let a beat pass, two beats, three, breathing deeply before I climb out. The smell of his cologne or body wash or something—whatever produces that faint musk he wears—lingers, clouding my passenger seat.
I take my time retrieving my briefcase because I am a fucking professional, and I absolutely refuse to walk into my office with a fucking hard-on.
He’s whistling, for God’s sake. Who goes to work whistling? Of course, he’s about to spend the day in the same room as Natalie, so maybe I can see his point.
