2017

I’m really going to have to stop pushing her buttons in public. Because, seriously—the way she’s standing over me, cheeks flushed, dark eyes narrowed on my face—mom-squad behind me be damned—I’m about five seconds away from jumping her.

When she spins on her heel and stalks off toward the elevator, the fast click of her high heels moving away from me, it’s like someone’s got a tow chain wrapped around my neck.

I don’t have a choice.

I have to follow her.

I can’t move fast enough.

I don’t know what I’m doing here.

I think after last night, I just needed to know that I could be around her without losing my shit.

Maybe I’m trying to erase what happened. The way I bitched out. Ran.

Maybe.

All I know is that Henley has her hair twisted up in some sort of bun and the freckles scattered across the back of her neck are not helping matters any.

Standing behind her, close enough to reach out and touch her if I want to but not close enough to be considered inappropriate, I can’t stop staring at them. The gentle spread of them disappearing into her hairline. The way they flow down her nape, slipping below the collar of her tailored suit jacket.

I can hear people whispering behind us. Looking at me. Young moms in yoga pants, waiting for the Baby & Me exercise class to start. High school girls who are too young to even think about looking at a guy like me. The bunch of old ladies meeting for book club. The security guard posted at the main entrance. Even Margo, who’s known me since I was a kid. They’re all looking at me.

I know why. I know what women think when they look at me. What they see. Want. Most times I can pretend it doesn’t bother me. Sometimes I can even pretend that I enjoy it.

Right now, it takes every bit of self-control I have to stop myself from shoving Henley into the elevator when it slides open. Somehow, I manage it, stepping into the car after her without pinning her against the doors as soon as they close.

Instead, I reach out and press the button marked 3 on the panel before dropping my hand. When I do, the back of it skims across hers and her fingers twitch against mine. That’s all it takes. An acknowledgement that I’m here, that she sees me, and I’m there. So hard, so fast, I see spots.

There are cameras in here, genius.

I imagine whoever’s in charge of manning the security cameras watching us. Seeing Henley in her no-nonsense navy skirt and jacket. Soft skin. Not a hair out of place. Me, in worn jeans and a T-shirt. Covered in ink. Rough hands. Visible erection.

Yeah.

There are cameras in here.

But no sound.

“Do you know why I’m here, Daisy?” I say, my gaze still trained on the nape of her neck.

“You heard your fan club was meeting and wanted to give them a thrill.” She says it without looking at me, gaze aimed straight ahead.

I came here to see her. That’s it. I just wanted to see her. Look at her. Talk to her. That’s all I wanted. I know I was supposed to wait until five and I’d planned to, but I couldn’t. I needed to see her. Not on a computer screen. I need to see her. To take a breath and know she was standing in the same space I was. Even though she’d never let me, I needed to know that I could reach out and touch her. Brush her hair out of her face. Kiss her cheek. Hold her hand.

That’s it. That’s all I wanted.

And then she had to go and get snippy with me.

I feel mouth twitch, fast and tight. “Given my reaction to that mouth of yours, you’d think you’d know better than to sass me in public.”

I watch her lips part.

Hear the intake of breath, soft and uneven.

That sweet, pink blush spread across her cheeks.

The soft flush that sweeps across the nape of her neck.

She’s remembering all the things I’ve done to her.

What happens when she gets sassy.

What that mouth of hers does to me.

Makes me want to do to her.

“So, do you?” My voice sounds heavy. Rough and pitted.

Her gaze slides to the left, raking up the length of me without turning her head to look. “Do I what?”

“Do you know why I’m here?” I enunciate each word carefully. Makes she hears the warning in my tone.

This time she minds her manners. “No,” she whispers, the tip of her tongue calls her a liar when it skims along her upper lip, just as the elevator jerks to a stop.

The doors slide open, not a moment too soon because I suddenly don’t care if there’s a ten-man camera crew in this goddamned elevator with us.

I lean into her space, shifting slightly in my boots. Close enough to catch the sweet, dark scent of her. To see the freckle I used to tease her about. The one behind her ear. One of my favorites. I want to lick it so goddamned bad I have to practically bite my tongue in half to keep it in my mouth.

“I’m here to see how quiet you can be while I make you come.” Somehow, I manage to make my way past her without dragging her out of the elevator along with me.

For the smallest of seconds, I think she’s not going to follow me. That she’s going to ride the elevator back down without giving me a second thought, but I keep walking because despite the fact that I am a pathetic shitsack, I’m still hanging on to a few shreds of my tattered pride.