Page 136 of The Love Operation

“Mission accomplished,” I say lightly. “Thank you for checking on me. It means a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me,” he says.

His hand slides around my waist and pulls me to him. My body tingles, my airways tightening in ways that have nothing to do with stress and everything to do with him.

“For the record, I don’t want to give you space. I miss you.”

“We can’t,” I whisper. Our mouths are centimeters apart.

I don’t have much willpower left. If he presses, I won’t be able to push him away. And there’s the very real fact that I want him to kiss me. I want him to do a lot more than kiss me.

His chest rises and falls against mine. He searches my face, seeming to weigh options. Then his eyes darken. “I don’t care about any of it right now,” he says.

Before I can say that I do, before I can summon the strength to pull my body away from his—I’m kissing him back. It’s desperate and blinding. Reckless. Incredible. Too much and not enough.

I know I should stop this, but my body doesn’t care about consequences, even as I’m aware that there’s something swirling in the desire—maybe guilt?

By the time we break apart, we’re breathless, and my lips buzz.

“I should let you get back to work,” he says, turning away.

But I reach out and grab his arm. “Wait. How did the meeting go? How badly did I hurt my chances for chief?”

He grimaces. I don’t like how his sigh feels like an answer.

After a beat, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his jacket fanning like he’s posing for a GQ cover, but his eyes won’t meet mine. “I’m afraid it’s . . . not looking great.”

I break into a sweat, my armpits sting, and my first thought is no.

“Seriously?” I say. “One incident like this can undo everything I’ve done?”

He shrugs but still doesn’t meet my gaze. “It hasn’t undone it. It’s just going to be harder.”

“It was already hard.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Cord.” His tone edges toward irritation. “Is not getting chief the end of the world?”

I gape at him. I want to snap back with every reason it is, but the fire dies as fast as it flared. I don’t have the energy to argue.

“But . . . you’ll fight for me?” I ask, now wondering where he stands, and that’s a terrible feeling. I wish I’d been in that meeting. “This hasn’t changed your mind, has it?”

“I’m on your side,” he says. “And no, this hasn’t changed my mind. But I am worried about you.”

“I’m going home and straight into bed,” I promise.

He nods, a small smile on his lips that drops, like he’s thinking about saying something.

I know that if I asked him to come over, just to be with me, he would. But something holds me back.

“When will I see you again?” he asks.

We hold eye contact for several seconds.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Right now, it feels like everything is in the air. And after this . . .”

I trail off. This isn’t the moment to say what I’m thinking—that maybe we rushed this. Not the feelings but the timing. The secrecy.

Before I can sort any of it, I need sleep. Then damage control. Then all the hard conversations.