Page 15

The word sits between us. I hadn't planned on saying it. But there it is, out loud, true, and she's looking at me with those brown-gold eyes and I can see that she understands exactly what it costs me to say it.

"You panicked," she repeats.

"I was — close to you. And I could feel—" I stop. Try again. Stop again. The words are there but they won't line up. They keep scattering, rearranging, refusing to make a sentence I can stand behind. "I don't do that. What I did in the corridor. I don't touch people. I don't stand in hallways. I don't—"

"Count heartbeats?"

"I didn't count it."

"You counted. Pretty sure you count everything."

"Seventy-two beats per minute. At first. Then faster."

She stares at me. Her lips part. The book is still against her chest and her knuckles are white on the spine.

"Danny."

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Danny."

"I should go—"

"If you walk away without saying goodnight again I swear to God—"

I kiss her.

No preamble. No smooth lead-in. I close the gap between us in one step and put my mouth on hers. Her lips are so soft. My hand goes to her face but I get her jaw wrong and have to adjust. My nose bumps hers and she makes a startled ‘’mmph’’ sound against my lips, which instantly makes my cock rock hard. Her hand fists in my tie and she pulls and I step forward half a step and kiss her harder.

She tastes like coffee and pure fucking obsession.

The book drops. I hear it hit the marble. Neither of us reacts. Her other hand comes up to my chest, flat, fingers spread, pressing against me through the shirt, and I can feel my own heartbeat hammering against her palm and wonder if she's counting.

I slide my hand into her hair. It's soft and smells like roses as I thread my fingers through it. She tilts her head back to give me a better angle without me asking, and I make a sound. Low and rough and from somewhere I haven't accessed in a long time.

She pulls my tie harder.

We're against the bar now. I don't remember moving. Her back is against the edge of the marble as I grip her hip pulling her further into me. She’s grinding into my hardness like she just can’t stop herself. Like she’s been just as fucking obsessed about this as I have. Her hand is on my chest and we're kissing like we're angry about it, because maybe we fucking are. This is the kiss of two people who have been circling each other since the night she ruined my shirt and are done with the circling part. I don’t think I can be gentle or careful right now, and if we don’t stop soon, I’m going to bend her over this fucking bar.

A door slams somewhere upstairs. The building waking up above us.

I pull back an inch.

Her eyes open. Dark and dazed. Her mouth's red and her hair is wrecked from my hand and her fingers are still twisted in my tie, knuckles white.

"My shift," she whispers.

"You’ve got eighteen minutes, baby."

"You need to let me go, Danny."

“I know. The problem is, I don’t want to.”

My fingers are still locked in her hair, at the base of her skull. I make myself let go. It takes more effort than any business decision I've ever made.

She smooths my tie. Straightens the knot where her fist had crumpled it.Such a small gesture, yet it hits me way harder than the kiss.

"For the record," she says, voice rough, face flushed, trying to be composed and absolutely not pulling it off, "that can't happen again."