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But I already want more and I really need to get back to work.

Ever so gently I remove my fingers, my body still shaking as I put myself back together.

I wash my hands. This time I turn the water off and face the door.

“Mingle. Give a speech. Go home to Barnaby.” That’s my mantra as I push through the door, coming face to face with Leif.

“Satisfied?” he asks while his eyes fuck me just like my fantasy suggested they would.

Chapter Four

No.

I’m so far from satisfied standing in his presence that I stop breathing. Full stop. Just no more breathing.

Then that one teeny tiny little word he spoke catches up to me.Satisfied?

I’m not going to lie, next time I get off, I’m going to play him saying that on repeat in my head.

Also how the fuck did he even know?

These thoughts rapid-fire through me making it feel like I’m staring at him for far longer than I actually am. Or maybe it really is just me staring at my boss in an empty hallway with my jaw on the floor.

The possibilities are endless.

Then he raises a little brow in challenge. He knows exactly what I did in there…

Did I wash my hands?Yes.

So is he smelling me? Unlikely, no one can smell someone’s arousal. That’s ridiculous.

I blow out a breath. Raise my chin. I have done this before. I have not donethisbefore, but I have done something before and the body remembers how.

“Hardly,” I mutter, walking past him with a scarlet face. I don’t know why he is in this hallway, but he is. And we both need to get back.

I have a speech. He has a toast to make. The clock on the wall says ten minutes, and said clock doesn’t care that he just called out my naughty public behavior.

“Hadley,” Leif says my name like a prayer. Like we aren’t here in a hallway at the Penn Museum at half past seven and more like two in the morning and I just came on his tongue.

Gods what is wrong with me tonight.

Two years. Two years and three months. My body picked tonight. My body picked him. My body is a traitor and a liar, and I owe my body an apology because my body has been telling me about him for twenty-four months and I havenotlistened once.

“Mr. Dagon.” I inhale slowly because I don’t want to smell this man any more than I have to. “Walk with me?”

I don’t wait. I don’t stop. That is in fact the last thing I want or need to do.

“I’m not entirely sure how to start this conversation.” That earns him a glance. But not a full one, I don’t want him to get too many ideas. Just a slight turn of my head, more eye than turn.

“I find it best if you just rip off the Band-Aid.” Back through Africa.

His hand finds my bicep before he steps in front of me. The grip is careful. Bracketed. Like he’s holding something he doesn’t want to bruise but doesn’t trust himself to let go of either.

His eyes catch the hall light. Crystals or shards or something pulse in the iris. I swear they swirl.

Eyes don’t do that. Hisdo.

“So odd.” I lean into him before I think better of it. “Your eyes are just…” I can’t find the words for what they look like, so I shake my head and step back. “What did you need, sir? Therewon’t be any more event crashers. The doors are locked and no one can get in.”