11
| JASON |
TUESDAY
(Time: 10:15 am.)
She’s back to her usual self. Thank fuck.
I hated railing on her ass last week, but it needed to be done. There’s a lot riding on the success of this project. For both of us.
Still, I feel like a dick for having to be so blunt. I know she was only late because she hasn’t been sleeping. I see the dark circles under her eyes getting worse every day. And I wish like hell that I could help her, but just as she promised, she hasn’t once shown up at my place to tear me away from my sleep since.
I fucking hate that.
At least she isn’t trying to avoid me anymore. Progress there. I swear, just one more day of that and I would’ve thrown her over my shoulder and dragged her back to my place, kept us locked in my bedroom having sex on every available surface until we both got it out of our systems.
Problem is, I don’t think getting Summer out of my system is even possible.
It’d be fine, or at least manageable, if she simply plagued my dreams. At least dreams you can wake up from. Forget, even. But these wild-ass wide-awake thoughts I’ve been having about the woman since that kiss… Hell. All the wet dreams I’ve ever had in my life combined don’t even come close to comparing.
It’s been intense.
Night after night I’m hit with these hi-def, crystal clear images of her under me, writhing and moaning, her arms stretched high above her on the bed, my left hand pinning her wrists together while my other hand slides into those sexy pair of panties I once caught a glimpse of under her PJs. The pair with tiny little cherries all over them. The pair I always end up shredding with my teeth so I can tongue her soaking wet little slit and—
Damn it. Now I’m hard again. At work, no less.
“Boss?”
Ah hell, now I’m even harder. I turn around and see the object of my burgeoning insanity holding a folder out to me.
“Call me Jason from now on,” I say without thinking. “Everyone else does. It’s just easier since we have so many different company crews on site now, each with their own foreman.”
Yep, I’m a twisted son of a bitch. Still want to hear her calling me by my name even though I can’t touch her.
She shrugs. “Okay. Here are my updated plans for the…” she trails off and gives me a weird look.
“What’s wrong?” I frown. It can’t be my hard-on making her mute, because my tool belt is doing a bang-up job keeping that from being public knowledge. Plus, the woman’s made good on her vow never to look at my cock, or even in its general vicinity, again.
I fucking hate that new development, too.
She gazes over at her desk behind me. “Did you…” She walks over and picks up a glazed blueberry fritter so big, she needs two hands to hold it. “Did you get me a pastry?”
I nod out the window over to where our guys are pigging out on doughnuts. “I picked up a couple dozen for the guys since I know they got an early start today. Knowing them, they would’ve scarfed them all down before you even got a chance to smell them so I saved one for you.”
“These are my absolute favorite,” she says, her voice sounding surprised that I’d know a detail like that about her.
“From your favorite bakery, too.”
She shakes her head at me in wonder before excitedly tearing off a piece and popping it in her mouth with a happy little smile. Followed by a tiny little moan.
That forces me to adjust the fit of my jeans. Good industrial tool belt.
“So, about the marsh lands,” I say, averting my eyes from the innocent pastry-eating extravaganza that’s registering as porn where my poor, confused cock is concerned. I quickly flip through the newly added rough sketches and longitudinal cost analysis charts. Her last draft was also extremely detailed, and impressive as hell. Really, this update is just going to make my investors think I’m showing off.
Which reminds me…
“Your name’s not on this,” I say, tapping on the clear folder. “Wasn’t on the last one you turned into me either.”
She blinks in surprise. And panic. “Because those are just my informal notes.”
I grin over her idea of “informal notes.” It’s like calling Disneyland a little playground.
She starts scrambling around, grabbing photo printouts and booting up her laptop before yanking the folder out of my hand and body-blocking me when I try to take it back. “I wasn’t aware you were expecting a formal proposal yet. These were just some things I put together because I thought you were still considering the purchase.”
“I’ve already decided to buy the land. So, I’ll need you to throw a cover page on this,” I tickle her ribs and snatch the folder back when she yelps, “so I can submit it to my board for final approval. I want to make sure to give credit where it’s rightfully due.”
My crazy as hell overachiever gives me a look like I’ve just asked her to be an accomplice in an unthinkable double homicide. “This isn’t ready for your board to see!” Fritter now totally forgotten, another highlighter gets frantically shoved into her bun while she prints out a bunch of documents and unfolds a map of the marsh lands with a hundred or so neon flags and place marker stickers on it. “Just give me twenty-four hours. If I work through the night I’ll be able to—”
Her eyes go wide the moment my hand gently slides over her mouth.
“No more skipping sleep, Summer,” I say sternly.
When she turns to me and utters a quiet, “But,” I slowly rub my thumb over her lower lip. Partly to stop her protesting, and partly to brush away a few doughnut crumbs. But mostly because I need an excuse to touch her lips again. If not with my thumb, it’ll be my mouth again. Then I won’t be able to stop until I have those soft, full lips wrapped around my—
Fuck. Focus, Steele.
“Put a cover page on this for now so I can meet with the board and make the purchase. Then take another week for the formal proposal.”
At her adorably stubborn frown, I sigh. “I mean it. Take the week. You need to sleep more.” I graze the back of my knuckles over the dark circles under her eyes. “I’m going to make sure that everyone knows this idea was yours. Which means a lot of meetings and maybe even some interviews. Can’t have folks thinking I’m an evil slave driver who’s making you burn the midnight oil every night.”
She starts shaking her head frantically. “I-interviews? I won’t be good in an interview.”
“You’ll be great,” I reply in a tone that says since I’ve declared it, it’s going to be so.
Eyes still wide and more than a little disbelieving, she whispers gravely, “I don’t think this is going to be good for my insomnia. I won’t be able to stop worrying over the details.” She takes a big anxious bite out of her fritter and begins scribbling down Post-It note after Post-It note to herself as she chews.
Christ, she’s so fucking cute when she’s being neurotic.
“That’s my other stipulation,” I say, stealing an extra-glazed corner chunk to pop in my mouth, grinning again when the little doughnut addict moves the fritter out of my reach with a tiny, territorial growl. “From now on, if something regarding this project is preventing you from sleeping, you goddamn better be at my door to let me help. I don’t care what time it is. And that’s non-negotiable. We’re in this together, Summer.”
While she stares at me like I’ve begun speaking in an alien language, I stare right back at her, mostly to see if there aren’t any more loose doughnut crumbles I can brush away for her.
There are. On the front of her t-shirt, sprinkled over the big ‘STEELE’ logo framed rather perfectly across the tempting swell of her breasts.
The woman never makes things easy on me.
I resist the impulse to take care of those crumbs—with my mouth—and instead reach over to lift her jaw-slack chin. “I already bought a bottle of that godawful hazelnut syrup you put in your coffee so forget about going over to that coffee shop on the other side of town anymore. It’s dangerous. You can doctor your coffee exactly how you like it in my kitchen from now on.”
Her expression goes from dumbfounded to outright flabbergasted. “But…why?”
I shrug matter-of-factly. “For all the reasons I just said. And because I’ve discovered that I’d much rather be dead tired with you bugging me until the sun rises than well-rested without having had you pester my ass awake at all.”
She gapes at me in stunned, near catatonic silence.
I don’t like her silent. I like hearing her, all of her. All the time. Her unique little reactions and responses to things. Her utter lack of a filter. Summer just being Summer.
It’s damn addicting.
She’s damn addicting.
Which is why her standing there in total silence after what I just revealed is making me fucking crazy.
I want to hear her. Without a filter. Reacting and responding. To me.
Right here. Right fucking now.