Nothing exists to me right now, except for her.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. My eyes are pulled to it.
I want to kiss her.
And I know she definitely wants me to.
I lift my eyes back to hers. “Before, when I said you looked nice, what I was actually thinking is that you looked gorgeous.”
Her breath catches.
Fuck it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to kiss her.
“Darling!” The sound of my mother’s voice pierces right through the moment.
Morgan’s eyes widen with shock, and she moves away from me.
My heart is hammering in my chest.
“Mom, Dad,” I say, rising to kiss my mom’s cheek. I get a pat on the back in greeting from my dad.
Morgan stands, too. Her cheeks are flushed. “Hi, Mrs. Cross, Mr. Cross,” Morgan greets them. I notice that her voice sounds as shaky as I feel.
“It’s Frank and Nancy. How many times do I have to tell you?” my mom good-naturedly chides her. Then, she leans over and kisses Morgan’s cheek.
My parents take the seats across from us. My dad pulls out my mom’s chair for her and waits while she sits, like he always does.
“Sorry we’re late,” my mom says to us.
“You’re not late,” I tell her.
But I wish they had been. Then, I might have—no, I would have kissed Morgan. And I don’t know whether to be pissed or relieved that I didn’t get to kiss her. Because kissing Morgan would be a bad idea.
Not the kissing part. That would be amazing; I have no doubt about that. It’s the after that would be bad. The awkwardness of the fact that we work together. We run the company together. I can’t kiss her, and I definitely can’t fuck her.
So, it’s good that we were interrupted.
Our waitress appears again and asks for my parents’ drink orders. My mom tells her that she’s going to stick with the wine I already ordered. My dad orders a whiskey sour.
The whole time she’s at the table, taking their orders, she’s making sex eyes at me. But I’m more concerned with the fact that Morgan hasn’t looked at me. Not once.
And it’s pissing me off.
I want to know what she’s thinking.
Is she relieved that we didn’t kiss? Or does she wish we had?
And I’ve turned into a thirteen-year-old girl.
Even still, I nudge her knee with mine, forcing her to look at me.
She lifts those gorgeous eyes to mine. They’re expressionless. In complete contrast to how she was looking at me a few minutes ago.
I have an odd urge to see that desire in her eyes again.
“You okay?” I whisper to her.
She nods and then turns back to the table, opening one of the menus our waitress just brought.
Okay then. I’m guessing she’s relieved we didn’t kiss.
And if that doesn’t just piss me right off.
“So, Morgan,” my dad says, “Wilder tells us you’ve come up with a business idea.”
“Frank, let’s order our food before we talk business,” my mom says.
I chuckle and pick up my own menu, trying to decide on what I want to eat, but it’s hard to focus when I’m so distracted by Morgan sitting next to me. The scent of her perfume. The way she brushes her hair back with her hand as she leans forward to read the menu. Her finger running down the list of dishes. The way she nibbles her lip in thought.
I want to nibble that lip. No, I want to bite that lip.
I want to kiss that mouth and suck on her tongue and make her moan. And—
Stop.
I’m getting a hard-on, and I really don’t want an erection while I’m sitting with my parents.
We all decide on food and place our orders with our waitress, who indecently drops a small piece of paper into my lap as she passes me by.
I look up at her, and she smiles and winks at me.
Yeah, not happening.
When I turn back, I see Morgan staring at me with barely concealed disgust in her eyes. She immediately looks away. I glance at my mom and dad to see if they saw, but they’re too busy talking to realize that the waitress dropped me a note.
I want to tell Morgan that I have no intention of reading the note, which I’m guessing has her digits on it or a message like, Meet me in the restroom in five minutes.
This isn’t the first time a waitress has dropped me a note.
But I can’t say a damn thing to Morgan in front of my parents.
Even if I could say something, what would I say?
I’m not going to fuck the waitress because I want to fuck you.
Yeah, not likely.
But I don’t want her to think that I will call the waitress after we’re finished here. So, I pick the note up and tear it up into small pieces over the table.
“What’s that you’re tearing up?” my mom asks.
“Just a receipt,” I tell her. Then, I drop the small pieces of paper into the glass candleholder that has a tea light candle burning in it, letting the pieces of paper burn up.
“Wilder!” my mom chastises. “You’ll start a fire.” She starts wafting her hands over the candle.
“That won’t start a fire.” My dad chuckles. “But you will, fanning it like that.”
I chuckle as my mom pulls her hands back.
I look at Morgan. She doesn’t look back at me, but I know she knows that I’m staring at her. And what she does do is smile.
And fuck if that smile doesn’t make me feel good.
My dad picks up his drink and has a sip. “So, the food has been ordered. Now, I’m really interested in hearing this idea of yours, Morgan. It’s the reason we’re here.”
Morgan smiles at my dad. “Okay.”
She glances at me, and I give her a look of encouragement, which seems to brighten her eyes. She looks back to my parents and starts talking. She tells them everything she told me with the same level of enthusiasm that has me burning for her again.
I can’t take my eyes off her as she talks. I’m enthralled.
I’ve never been this hot for a woman before. And I know I’m in trouble because I’ve realized that it’s not only this woman’s face and body that turns me on. It’s her mind, too. She’s smart as fuck. The way she lights up when she talks about work turns me on in a way no other woman ever has.
I might want to stick my tongue in her mouth and slide my cock up inside her pussy, but I want to talk to Morgan more. I want to know her.
She finishes talking, and my mom and dad are staring at her—smiles on their faces, exactly like I was wearing when Morgan first told me her idea.
“I knew you were smart, Morgan. That’s why we wanted you to come work for us,” my mom says. “But this…after being with us for only a short time.” She looks at my dad, as if needing his help with words.
“We’ve talked about this in the past, wanting to break into this part of the market, but we could never make the figures work. But, if you’re telling us that you have a way to make this work without losing product quality…” My dad leans back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the table. “Brilliant, Morgan. Really brilliant.”
With Morgan bringing this great thing to the table, I was expecting to experience some level of jealousy on my part, purely because my mom and dad had brought her in and given her half of my job. And, now, she’s living up to their high expectations, and so far, I’ve done fuck all, except for lust after her.
But I don’t feel jealous. I actually feel…proud. Like Morgan’s somehow mine to be proud of.
But she’s not yours, assface. She’s your business partner and nothing more.
Morgan looks at me, the praise lighting up her eyes.
And I’ve never wanted to kiss her more than I do right now.
I shove the thought away. “I told you they’d love it,” I say to her.
Her smile softens on me.
My heart starts to thud in my chest.
Then, she
looks away.
A moment later, our waitress turns up with our food, putting plates in front of us.
When the waitress is gone, my dad picks his knife and fork up. “I want you both on this.” He points his knife at me and then Morgan.
I glance at Morgan to see how she feels about this. She’s smiling, so I take that as a good thing.
“I want the both of you to draw up a proposal for this, pros and cons, and send them to me by Monday at the latest.”
I meet Morgan’s twinkling eyes.
“Sure thing,” we both say at the same time.
I grin, and she smiles at me.
Dragging my eyes from her, I pick up my knife and fork.
And I won’t deny that I’m thrilled at the prospect of having to work closely with Morgan on this over the next few days—maybe even the weekend, if I’m lucky.
What the hell? I’m actually wishing to miss out on my weekend fucks, so I can spend time working with Morgan.
Can the real Wilder Cross please stand up?
The only thing I can think is that my cock is in definite lust with her. That, or she’s done some kind of voodoo to him.
That’s the only explanation I have right now as to why I’ve turned into a Morgan-obsessed idiot.
We all leave the restaurant together. My parents have a car waiting. I’ll hitch a ride with them. My condo is on Lake Shore, which is on the way to my parents’ house on Gold Coast. They still live in the same house that I grew up in.
“Thanks for dinner,” Morgan says to my mom and dad.
Mom kisses her on the cheek. “See you soon,” Mom says to her, climbing in the car.
“I’m looking forward to seeing that proposal,” my dad says to her. “You want a ride?” Dad asks me, climbing in next to my mom.
“Yeah, I’ll just grab Morgan a cab.”
“Oh, no need. I’m going to walk. I only live on Lincoln.” She thumbs over her shoulder.
“I thought you got a cab here?” I say stupidly.
She smiles. “I came from the office. I was working late.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t need to. It’s not far.”
“I don’t give a shit if it’s five steps away. I’m walking you,” I firmly tell her. “I’m walking Morgan home,” I tell my parents, leaning into the car. “I’ll talk to you later.”
I shut the car door.
I turn to Morgan as my parents’ car pulls away into traffic.
“You really don’t have to walk me home,” she says to me.
“I’m not letting you walk the streets of Chicago alone at night.”
“It’s not that late.”
“Mmhmm. Okay. So, you think murderers don’t start work until it’s super late?”
“I actually didn’t know that murdering was a profession.” She gives me a dry look.
“You’re hilarious. And I’m serious, Morgan. You shouldn’t be walking around the city on your own at night.”
When I look at her, a smile is tugging at her lips, and she’s shaking her head at me.
“What?”
“I just didn’t realize that you had such strong feelings about women walking Chicago’s streets alone.”
“I don’t. I just care about you walking these streets alone.”
Something flashes across her face. It’s not happiness at my words. If anything, she looks annoyed, but it’s gone too quickly for me to know for sure.
She stares ahead, wrapping her arms over her chest.
She isn’t wearing a coat, and a slight chill is in the air.
I don’t ask if she’s cold because something tells me that, right now, she’d reject the offer of my jacket.
So, instead, I slide my jacket off, keeping pace with her, and I step closer and hang it over her shoulders.
She stops abruptly. Her eyes flash to mine.
“You looked cold,” I say gently.
Her lips press together, like she’s about to argue with me, so I’m surprised when she says, “Thank you.” Her words are soft, and they curl in around my chest and settle there.
She slips her arms into my jacket.
It’s huge on her. And the sight of her wearing my jacket sets off something primal inside me.
I want to pick her up, carry her off to my lair, and do dirty, dirty things to her all night long.
Heat flares in my groin, and I have to bite back a moan at the images flashing through my head.
Morgan starts walking again, and I follow, falling in step beside her.
I shove my hands in my pants pockets to stop myself from doing something stupid, like grabbing her and kissing her right here on the street.
We walk in silence for a while. I can’t think of a thing to say that doesn’t consist of the words kiss and fuck, so I keep my mouth shut, as I know I can’t do either of those things with her, no matter how much I want to.
My parents love her, and I know they would kick my ass to hell and back if I screwed things up with her working for the business.
And I know me. I’d screw things up.
Business, I’m great at. Women, not so much. Well, I’m great at fucking them, but anything beyond that? Nope.
“Your mom and dad seemed…happy with my idea,” she says softly.
I slide my eyes to her. “They are happy with your idea. More than happy.”
The smile that appears at my words sparks alive every sexual feeling in my body like nothing ever has before.
If her smile can do that to me, then I can only imagine what it would feel like to be inside her.
Why does the one woman who excites me this much have to be the one woman I can’t touch?
I try to tell myself that that’s the reason. Because I can’t touch her.
But it’s not.
It’s her.
I can feel my cock start to swell in my pants. In an attempt to direct my thoughts elsewhere, I say, “So, I know you lived in Evanston when we were at Northwestern and you live in Chicago now, but where are you from originally?”
“Decatur,” she says.
“Can’t say I’ve ever been.”
“You’re not missing much.” Her lips lift at the corners.
“You didn’t like it?”
“No, I love it. It’s home. But it’s not as”—she wafts her hands around, as though trying to find the words—“exciting as Chicago, if that’s the right word to use.”
“Exciting is as good as any word.” You’re exciting. You excite the hell out of me.
“You’re from Chicago, right?” she says. It doesn’t sound so much like a question but more like a statement.
“Yep. Born and bred.”
We continue walking on in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s actually nice.
I can’t remember the last time I walked a woman home like this—without the promise of anything at the end of it.
There probably hasn’t ever been a time. Because, when there’s me and a woman in the mix, there’s always sex at the end of it.
Except with her.
It’s different. And I like it.
I like her.
“So…this is me.” She comes to a stop outside a three-story brownstone on Lincoln.
Looking up at the building, I ask, “Which apartment is yours?”
“Top floor.”
“I’ll see you upstairs.”
“I’ll be fine.” She laughs softly. “My downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Bigly, is like a rottweiler. No one gets in this building if they don’t live here.”
“So, she wouldn’t let me in?”
“Definitely not.” She grins up at me.
“I’m sure I could charm my way in.”
I wink at her, and she laughs.
“I’d like to see you try. Mrs. Bigly’s immune to bullshit.”
That makes me laugh. Her eyes are sparkling with amusement. Warmth spreads across my chest.
Fuck, I want her.
“Oh, your
jacket.” She slips it off and hands it to me.
I want to tell her to keep it, but there’s no reason for me to say that without it seeming odd, so I take it from her.
“So…” She takes a step back, and I want to follow her. “Thanks for walking me home.”
“Anytime.”
She seems to hesitate. Then, she turns and walks up the steps. I watch her go. When she reaches the top, she gets her key from her clutch and unlocks the door. She opens it and then pauses before turning back to me.
“I had a good time tonight.”
I smile at her. “Me, too.”
“Good night, Wilder.”
“Night, Morgan.”
I watch her go inside, and the door shuts safely behind her before I leave.
I see a taxi light heading my way, so I step out and flag it down.
The taxi stops, and I get in.
“Lake Shore,” I tell the driver.
The driver has the air conditioner on full blast, so I pull my jacket on. It smells of her, and my dick is instantly flying at full mast.
For fuck’s sake.
I want her so badly. And it’s getting harder not to act on my feelings. Leaving her just then was tough. I wanted nothing more than to kiss her. Take her inside her apartment and fuck her senseless.
But I can’t. No matter how much I want inside that gorgeous body of hers, I have to stay away.
And I hate that.
Maybe I should stick with my original plan of getting her ousted from the company. Then, I’d get my job back, and I’d also get to sleep with her.
Yeah, and that’s probably the most selfish and dickish thought you’ve ever had, Cross.
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s already shown herself to be a valuable asset to the company.
God, why didn’t I just fuck her all those years ago in college?
Because she hated you, dickface.
If I could go back in time, I’d tell eighteen-year-old Wilder to change eighteen-year-old Morgan’s mind about him, making her see that he wasn’t the total prick she thought he was, and then I’d tell him to fuck her for a week straight because a day would definitely not be enough.
But, unfortunately, I don’t have a fucking time machine, so I’m stuck in my perpetual hell of wanting her and not being able to have her.
I really need to get laid.
But I know, even if I went out to a bar now, picked up some chick, and screwed her for hours on end, it wouldn’t change anything. I’d still feel the same frustration.
Under Her Page 7