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I level him with my bitchiest look. Is this a game to him?
“Was it really an emergency, or are you here to fire me?”
He jerks as if I hit him, then stands and rounds the island, taking the bowl from my hand and setting it down. Only the tips of our fingers touch, but it feels like a movie, like sparks crackling in the air, the world around us dims, and it's just us.
“I would never fire you. That’s not the kind of man I am. I don’t use my work authority over people.”
He seems insulted, and now I feel guilty for assuming he would.
“I did have an emergency; my uncle needed to meet with me, and I needed some time to think,” he says, the last part coming out in a fast exhale.
“Can we sit down and talk?” He asks. His voice goes low, making my legs feel weak. The way his eyes darken and hone in on mine makes me feel like a teenager watching The Vampire Diaries for the first time.
I open my mouth to speak, wanting to sound like a strong, confident, independent female. But nothing comes out because my brain is all fuzzy from the way his eyes are watching mine. All I manage to do is nod and turn to Putty.
Just then, my stomach growls embarrassingly loud. I turn and begin to make the muffins again. I grab the pan and shove it into the oven.
“What are you thinking?” He probes.
"That's a dangerous and loaded question," I bite, but then I soften my eyes and meet his grey ones. "I'm thinking we have known each other less than a week, and this," I throw my hands up, "is all crazy."
"I agree." He replies, keeping his eyes downcast. He looks like he wants to add something, but he lets me continue.
I swallow, "But I also can't stop thinking about our kiss, which is normal for any woman who had the best kiss of her life." I admit feeling vulnerable.
His lips tug up, and some stress lifts off his shoulders. "I can't stop thinking about it, too, Poppy. I want more of it." His voice turns husky. It is so seductive that it has my yoga pants wanting to shimmy down my legs in an effort to help undress me. "I know it's fast, but I want more of you."
"You're my boss." My feverish hormones start to deflate and pop like balloons.
He glances toward my front door. "I'm your neighbor, too." He flashes me a half-sided, pleading smirk.
"Julian," I sigh, “I’m not going to be a dirty secret.” I declare, finally finding my strength. I grab the timer and set it.
He closes the distance, and his gentle hand on my hip pivots me to face him. Is he Superman because it feels like his touch can melt clothing into threads.
He tips my chin up, and I swear my ovaries orgasm on the spot.
“I would never expect you to be one. That’s why we need to talk.”
I awkwardly lead Julian into my living room, mentally kicking myself for not having a couch yet. Bringing my parents' furniture here felt wrong. Deep down, I wanted to leave their items in my childhood house, hoping they would return one day. It's pathetic, but it's also the truth. So, I only brought my bedroom stuff - the bed, a TV stand, a dresser, and a few cabinets, along with some odds and ends from college.
So, here I am, in a beautiful apartment, but with a sense of decor that's just... Ikea meets a teenager with no sense of style. I can do so much better, and I want to. I can't wait to focus on myself and not mend the past.
“I still have to buy some furniture,” I say, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I wanted to take my time to find things I liked. I was planning on doing some online shopping tonight.”
“I don’t care about furniture. I’d sit on the floor as long as it was next to you,” he says, and I can't help but feel a flutter in my stomach.
I pause and look over my shoulder at him. “You can’t say things like that,” I whisper. It’s too passionate. Too nice. Andrew, my ex, never spoke to me like that.
Julian steps closer, his voice a soft murmur. “It’s the truth.” His fingers play with a strand of my hair, sending a thrill through me. “I’d tell you we could sit at my place, but if I take you there, I’ll lead you right to my bedroom. That’s the truth also.”
I swallow hard, torn between caution and desire. Turning, I go back and grab a stool; Julian grabs a second, and we sit in my living room, staring at each other. It's awkward, to say the least.
"This feels like an AA meeting," I mutter.
His laugh lightens the mood. "Well, we each do have confessions to admit to." He says, those grey eyes looking at mine with a longing.
I look down and nibble on my lip. My next inhale captures the scent of Julian's cologne—or maybe it's his body wash. Whatever it is, it's pure man, clean and fresh, big balls and all. It's addicting, and I want to buy the entire bottle.
