Page 19 of Under Her

“Didn’t we?” She tilts her head. The amusement dancing in her eyes surprises me.

I let loose a smile on my lips. “Come on, Morgan, we both know I wasn’t your favorite person back then, and you didn’t exactly make that fact unknown to me.”

She laughs, and the sound runs through my veins like alcohol in my bloodstream.

“Okay,” she concedes, “I didn’t like you. But you didn’t like me either.”

I cock my head. “I liked you just fine—well, in the beginning until you incorrectly decided that I was an overprivileged prick and started hating on me.”

The humor fades from her eyes, and I know I said the wrong thing and took us back a step.

She presses her lips together, like she’s holding back from saying something, and before whatever words she’s fighting back can get out, I jump in.

“Look, this isn’t coming out right.” I rub a hand over my face. “What I’m trying to say is, whatever happened back then or what we thought of each other doesn’t matter. We’re different people now. College was forever ago. Neither of us knows the 2017 versions of each other, and I would really like for us to wipe the slate clean and start fresh from here.”

“When you say ‘wipe the slate clean,’ do you mean, forget the sex note on the back of your shirt, too?”

“Jesus.” I shake my head. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”

Her lips twitch, like she’s fighting a smile. “Probably not.”

“In all seriousness, I just want you to know that’s the first time anything like that has ever happened to me. It was just one of those screwup kind of days that happened on the worst day.”

Her brows knit together. “Me starting today is your worst day?”

“No!” Yes. Kind of. “No, I mean—”

“Wilder.”

“What?”

“I’m messing with you.” She smiles.

“Oh. Right. Okay.” I jam my hands in my pants pockets. “Well, anyway, I just want you to know that I am sorry for what happened before, and I do always keep my personal life away from work. I’m all business when I’m here.”

“Me, too,” she says.

“That’s good then—that we’re on the same page.” I free my hands from my pockets and walk toward her. My heart rate picks up, the closer I get to her.

She smells feminine, floral and sweet. Like a bouquet of flowers. I want to bury my head in her neck and taste that scent on the tip of my tongue.

I put my hand out to her. “Clean slate,” I say, staring straight into her big doe eyes.

She blinks once and then glances down at my hand before looking back up to meet me. She slips her hand into mine. Her hand is soft, and I’m desperately trying not to wonder how that hand would feel around my cock.

“Hi, clean slate. I’m Morgan Stickford.”

“Wilder Cross.” I grin and shake her hand, thinking that Morgan working here might not be the worst thing in the world after all.

It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m knee deep in work when there’s a tap at my door.

I look up from my computer screen to see Morgan standing in my office doorway. She’s looking exceptionally, torturously gorgeous in a black pencil skirt with a deep red silk shirt tucked into it, showing off her tiny waist and her more-than-a-handful rack. To top off my torment, her lips are painted the same shade as her shirt, and she’s wearing black come-fuck-me heels on her feet. Her hair is pinned up, begging for me to free it and run my fingers through it while I fuck her senseless over my desk.

Jesus. I really need to get laid.

And I really need to stop thinking of her in a sexual way.

“Hey.” I smile. “You okay?”