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As she opened her new email tab, and copied and pasted the info into the document to send, she felt Chase breathing down her neck again. That soft whisper of his breath made her mind go to mush.
She hit send. Or tried to. The computer had to think about that as well. Trying not to react to Chase’s nearness, she stared at the screen without seeing anything. Then she felt Chase edge closer and heard him inhale.
“Are you smelling my hair?” she asked, hoping her tone came off as irritated, even though right now, the thing that irritated her was her lack of irritation.
In her mind’s eye, she saw Liam brush back Natasha’s hair and kiss her neck.
“Yeah,” he said, and his smile came across in that one word.
“Then stop,” she said.
“But it smells so good.”
She felt him sweep her hair to one side, just like Liam had done to Natasha. The brush of his fingers felt like feathers.
“And your hair is so soft.”
He pressed his lips against the back of her neck. “Your skin tastes … sweet.”
She closed her eyes. “You should … probably stop.”
“Probably?” he asked and then said, “How about if I do this instead?” His lips shifted to kiss the side of her neck, sending all kinds of wonderful tingles down her back, her arms, to her breasts, and even lower.
“Stop,” she said, a little firmer.
He stopped, but he didn’t move away. “Why, Della?”
“I’m not ready for this. I’m still…” I put on my black underwear for you last time and look what happened.
He shot up. Something about how quick he pulled away, felt … wrong. She looked back over her shoulder.
“Not ready? Because of him?”
She just stared. “What?”
“He wants to talk to you,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“The email. Your damn email! Look at your screen,” he snapped. “You’ve got three emails from Steve. All with the same subject line. “‘We need to talk.’ What the hell does he need to talk to you about?”
She frowned, faced the computer, and clicked off the screen.
“Oh, hell,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He started for the door.
She let him get halfway out the door before she spoke. “Don’t,” she snapped.
He swung around.
His bright green eyes expressed his anger. “Don’t what, Della?”
“Don’t be like that,” she said.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like … like I’m doing something wrong. Like … you’re jealous.” Like you have a right to be jealous.
“I’m not jealous,” he said and lifted his arms behind his head, and the muscles in his arms bulged.
