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So certain, but I couldn’t blame him.
I was pretty much a sure thing for the rest of this trip. I’d already crossed the line, why deny myself something that wasso good? The consequences would be there whether we stopped now or ten orgasms from now.
“By the way…”
He glanced over. “Yes?”
“You and Marisol were a couple, right?”
His fingers clamped down on my thigh, and he exhaled a hard, heavy breath. “We were, but we haven’t been anything to each other besides colleagues for some time.”
“Okay. Thanks for sating my curiosity.”
The insecure beast in the back of my mind wondered how Weston could possibly be attracted to me when he had been with a woman like Marisol. We were not the same. When Weston put his hand on her thigh, he probably slipped right through.
He was looking at me instead of the road. “You don’t look so sated. This was why I didn’t want to answer you yesterday.”
I turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“Are you, or are you not, comparing yourself to her?”
“What woman wouldn’t?”
“There’s no comparison.”
I snorted. “No kidding.”
He squeezed my thigh almost too hard. “Stop that bullshit, Elise. You know you’re fucking gorgeous. You and Marisol are nothing alike. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t want you to be anything like her. There’s a reason we aren’t together.”
My fingers curled around his flexing wrist. “You’re going to leave bruises.”
“Good. Then you’ll see them and remember it was your thighs I couldn’t wait to bury my hand between. You’ll remember I’m going to be walking around the next factory, trying to hide an erection while counting the minutes before I can get back to this spot and replace my hand with my face.”
“Oh.”
The corner of his mouth hitched. “Yeah. Oh. So get anyone else out of your head. They’re out of mine.”
Biting down on my bottom lip, I slowly melted into my seat. His hold on me loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.
And I didn’t want him to.
Chapter Eighteen
Weston
Iwasn’thappy.
It was impossible for me to pretend otherwise, so Marisol was scrambling to smooth over the scowl on my face.
Brian Lewis owned one of the factories that produced Andes’ patented filler. He’d been with me since the beginning when I’d been nothing more than a rich kid with a lot of ideas. There was a time I’d trusted him implicitly.
But as Andes had grown, so had his business. Where we had once been a priority, we were now being pushed to the side.
Which was not acceptable.
“Excuse me.” Marisol stopped speaking, and everyone turned to me. “Did we not discuss this on the phone last week, Brian?”
Brian was ten years older than me, red-faced and round-bellied. He had peaked in high school but wasn’t self-aware enough to recognize no one was impressed by his piddling claim to fame for scoring the most touchdowns in a single game.
