Page 34 of Wells

Wells nods and moves back around the desk. The space between us opens up again, and something in me misses the heat of him before I can talk myself out of it.

We work through the operational security proof, the financial stability markers, the client testimonials Ridge insisted we include. Wells argues for technical precision. I push for emotional clarity. We meet in the middle more often than not.

Another two hours pass.

At some point, I stand to stretch, and Wells does the same. We end up at the window, staring out at the city lights below, the river cutting through downtown in a dark ribbon.

"You're better at this than I expected."

I turn my head. He's already looking at me.

"At design?"

"At being patient and working through all of the minute details."

"That is literally my job."

"Well, you're good at your job, then."

"Thanks."

He holds my gaze for half a second too long, then looks back at the window.

"We should finish."

We return to the desk. I sit, and he stands behind me again, leaning over my shoulder to review the final screen.

His hand braces on the desk beside mine. Our fingers are inches apart.

The ache between my legs is back, and this time I can't blame hormones or the morning or anything but Wells, standing close enough that I feel his breath, taste his cigarettes, close enough that I want him to stay exactly where he is.

I save the deck. The screen dims to idle.

Neither of us moves.

I turn my head. He is right there, closer than I realized. His eyes drop to my mouth for one fraction of a second before lifting again.

The work is done.

Clearly we're not. Fucking hell.

TEN

Wells

The Tell: A disguise can hide a face completely and still give the wearer away through a laugh, a cadence, a sound the costume was never built to cover. The mask held. The sound she made did not.

I know every reason this cannot happen. The smart move is to turn and walk back to my desk, thank her for staying late on her Friday night, and jack off to release whatever this is.

Cera is my employee. She reports directly to me. Not to mention, she could rake me over the coals more efficiently than any ex ever could.

But none of that is strong enough in this moment to stop me.

Her face is turned up toward mine, her breath audible in the quiet. I stare at the perfectly placed beauty mark above her upper lip.

Our website is complete, the project I needed for Monday is done, but both of us are still here.

Peoria has been in my head all week, more than usual. The wanting she leaves behind scrapes at my concentration and burns through the hours I need for sleep, a wanting only a woman in the flesh can satisfy.