Page 10 of Working for Him

"That's a lot of pressure for something that hasn't even started yet."

"Is it going to start?"

I draw one leg onto the bench, angling toward him. "I keep coming back to the fact that I can't stop thinking about what would've happened in that trailer if we hadn't been interrupted."

He smiles, knowing he’s affected me. "You want to know what would've happened?"

"I think," I say carefully, "that you would've kissed me."

"Yeah, I would've."

"And I think I would've let you."

He reaches out slowly, giving me every chance to pull back, and brushes his thumb along my jaw. "I'm terrified too," he says quietly. "But I'm more terrified of spending the next however long wondering what this could've been."

When he leans in, it's slow enough that I could stop him.

I don't.

His mouth meets mine and it’s soft and questioning, his lips are restrained in a way that's somehow hotter than if he'd just taken my lips. I fist my hand in his shirt and pull him closer, deepening it, and he groans softly against my mouth. When we finally break apart, we are both breathing hard, and he rests his forehead against mine.

"So that happened," I say, looking into his eyes.

"Yeah. It did."

"I don't do this," I tell him. "I don't just kiss people I work with."

"I know. Neither do I."

"Your place?" The suggestion comes out before I can think better of it. I don’t know what I’m doing, but for some reason it feels right.

His eyes search mine. "You sure?"

"No," I say honestly. "But I'm done pretending I don't want to find out what happens next."

CHAPTER 6

Caleb

Idon't rush.

That's the first conscious decision I make as I unlock the door with Rena close enough behind me that I can feel her presence like heat at my back. Every instinct is screaming to move faster. But this matters too much to get wrong.

She steps inside behind me and closes the door which resonates loudly in the silence. I watch her as she takes in the space just like she takes in everything at work. My work boots by the door, a jacket over a chair, and the smell of coffee and my aftershave.

"This feels like you," she says, exactly what she said in the trailer, and I'm starting to realize it's her tell.

There's no family photos on the walls beyond one faded picture of me and my grandmother at a job site when I was maybe ten, with my hard hat sliding down over my eyes. No sign of my mother anywhere in the house, which isn't an accident. I stopped keeping her things around a long time ago.

"You still good?" I ask. I need to hear her say it.

"I'm terrified," she admits. "But I'm good. I'm here. I'm choosing this."

That's all I need. I step into her space slowly, giving her room to pull back. She doesn't. I lift my hand and stop just short of her face, waiting. When she leans into the touch, something in my chest cracks open.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," I murmur, my thumb brushing her jaw.

She shakes her head. "Don't."