Harrison

I’m completely unprepared for the feelings that flood through me when I look over and see Gabriella standing there, watching me.

I let her go this morning with a gentle kiss, and told myself it had been a fun night, but that it was time to move on. I showered, got dressed, and forced myself to think about business, occasionally letting my mind linger on images of Gaby from last night, stretching out beneath me, her cries of pleasure filling the night. But I told myself it was just sex, and put her to the back of my mind.

My brain can say what it likes. The way my body reacts when I see her tells me otherwise.

I inhale, and my heart leaps into action, racing away and sending adrenaline pumping through my veins. I feel like a star that’s suddenly gone supernova, and for a second, it feels as if there’s nobody else in the room except the two of us.

“Morning,” Colette says cheerfully, and I realize she’s left Gaby’s side and crossed to stand by me and my guest. “You must be Mr. Johns,” she says to my visitor, and holds out her hand for him to shake. “Would you like a tour of the marketing department? This is our creative team over here, where all our ideas start…” Still talking, she leads a captivated Brad Johns away, giving me a parting wink over her shoulder.

Gabriella picks up the two mugs on the table and takes them to the kitchen area in the corner. I follow her over and stand beside her.

For a long moment, we say nothing. I watch her rinse the mugs and dry them, her eyes downcast. Her blush has died a little, but my gaze lingers on the touch of color remaining in her cheeks, and the way she nibbles at her bottom lip.

“Good morning,” I murmur.

She turns her head and studies my tie, then lifts her eyes to mine. The look in them makes me catch my breath.

“Morning,” she whispers.

Last night, her eyes had looked black in the moonlight, but now they’re a beautiful violet again, and so unusual I find myself staring into them. I want to press her up against the worktop and slide my hands beneath her pink top and kiss her until her mouth opens under mine and her hands snake up into my hair the way she likes to do.

I don’t. But we do exchange a long, heated look that sends our lips curving in a smile of mutual appreciation.

“Thank you,” I tell her, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes sparkle. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I can hardly walk,” she whispers.

I laugh. “I seem to recall that was what the lady ordered.”

She gives me a happy grin, and I smile back.

“It was a great evening,” I say. “I hope it helped you to move forward.”

“Oh, it definitely did that.”

“Now you can focus on travelling, and your new adventures.”

“Mmm. You too.”

“Yeah.” Except I can’t think of anything but Gaby and her warm, soft body.

I was so unprepared for last night. When I met her at the bar, I wasn’t really expecting her to come home with me, and even when she did, I thought we’d have sex once, twice if I was lucky, and hopefully it would be fun, and then we’d call it a day around midnight and she’d head back to her place.

I hoped to find physical pleasure with her. I didn’t expect to enjoy myself quite so much.

Still, it’s done. One-night stands are fun, but they’re like soufflés or meringue—they look good and taste sweet while they last, but have no substance.

“Have a lovely day.” I risk the chance that someone’s looking, and bend and touch my lips to hers. I feel rather than hear her inhale. I linger, wanting to deepen the kiss. It’s like she’s an incredibly strong magnet—I have to fight against the attraction I have for her, but I force myself to do it. I turn on my heel and, without looking back, I head off to rescue Brad Johns and complete the tour of the department.

*

For three days, I tell myself I don’t need her. I avoid the marketing department—in fact, I avoid the second floor altogether, and she doesn’t appear on my floor. But I feel acutely conscious of her presence in the building, of the fact that she’s close, but not close enough to me. I try to find reasons to see her, then scold myself for being stupid and walk away. I pick up the phone to call her, and hang up before she answers. I daydream about her in meetings, and tap her name into my laptop when I’m supposed to be taking notes. I search the net for recipes I know she’d like, print them out, then throw them in the trash. I think about her all the time, then get cross with myself for doing so. I irritate everyone around me because I’m grumpy and short-tempered.

I can’t talk to anyone about it, because I know they’ll just say I should call her and ask her out again, but that seems pointless. I need to get over this… whatever it is. I want to take two Advil and wake up better. I don’t want to think about Gaby—I want to get on with my life and not give our one-night stand a second thought.

But by day four, I’m even irritating myself, and mid-afternoon I take the stairs down to the second floor. I’m not going to talk to her, I tell myself—I’m just going to take a quick glance, to remind myself she’s only an ordinary girl, and nothing special.

I walk along the corridor, and then stop by the small stationery room.

Gaby is inside, apparently doing some kind of inventory as she counts the number of reams of A4 stacked on the shelves. She writes down a number, then stops, stares off into the distance, and sighs.

I freeze, tell myself to turn away, but find I can’t, and then she looks up and sees me too. I watch her inhale with shock, her eyes widening. She looks even more gorgeous than I remember, in a short navy skirt and a white top, with sexy high heels, and she’s pinned her chocolate-colored hair up so that wisps fall around her face.

We stare at each other for a long moment.

Fuck it.

I walk into the room, close the door behind me, take the chair that sits in the corner, and jam it under the handle.

Then I stride up to Gaby and take her face in my hands. I wait a moment for her to exclaim or pull away. And when she doesn’t, I crush my lips to hers.