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More meetings at work, passing data, analyzing it—hey, that’s what I’m paid for—and trying to keep my thoughts off the itch under my skin, under the surface of my thoughts. My body is stirring, reacting to the hint of some sort of release.
Sex. It’s called sex. Orgasm. Coming.
Stop. Bad idea.
Nobody said you have to stop having sex, the small, annoying voice in the back of my mind whispers. You made this rule up for your own reasons. Because you’re chicken shit.
Shut up.
Keep to the schedule. Keep to the rules.
Remember what could happen.
Yeah, as if I could ever forget.
I’m heading to the water cooler, my thoughts torn between the way my body burns with need I’m trying not to acknowledge and a new client’s file I’ve been studying, almost crashing into someone who’s standing in front of the machine.
A woman, I realize as I grab at her, not to fall on top of her and smash her into the cooler, soft and smelling of flowers, slender and delicate.
She screams and plants an elbow into my middle that makes me see stars. “Yah!”
“Fucking OW!”
“Stay back!” She lifts her hands in a defensive karate pose.
I blink the dark spots from my eyes and straighten with a wince. I know this voice, and those copper curls. “Brylee?”
“Ryan!” She lets her hands drop, hazel eyes going round. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’ll live.” I rub at my aching middle. “You got some moves there.”
“Thank you.” She beams. Then frowns. “You spoiled everything.”
“What did I spoil?”
“Oh nothing.” She grimaces. “But you weren’t supposed to come here now.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Your schedule. You don’t come to the cooler until later, if at all.”
I blink. I have such a rigid schedule? Shit.
“You came out early,” she says, pouting.
“All right.” She has a pretty mouth, I think dazedly. Kissable. The arch of her neck, her collarbone, barely visible where her white shirt dips… is sexy. Really sexy. “Can I have some water?”
“Suit yourself. I haven’t noticed you’re here, anyway.”
I open my mouth, close it. “I crashed into you. Surely you noticed that?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“You didn’t feel…” I put my hand on her wrist, close it around her fragile bones. “This?”
She draws a sharp breath, and her tits rise and fall under the shirt, drawing my gaze to them. Her scent seems stronger now—flowers and strawberries and woman.
“I haven’t…seen you,” she manages. “And in any case, I don’t care.”
