by Rose Lange
He smiled a knowing smile, as if to see right through the lie. “No, it wasn’t. That was just a bonus.”
The heat of a blush crept into her face as she straightened her skirt out. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest.
She’d dropped her supplies, but screw it. She’d come back for them later.
“I came to ask you out Saturday night,” Patrick said.
“No.”
Not Saturday night, or any night, not under any circumstances could she, or would she, go out with him. Admittedly, the idea of going out with him held a great deal of appeal, but it wasn’t going to happen.
“Why, because we work together?”
“Yes, exactly. We work together, and I never mix business with pleasure.”
He lifted a brow, a smirk covering his face.
“Then, what would you call this?” He made a motion between them with his hand, indicating what had just happened.
Did he have to make everything sound dirty? As though they weren’t discussing a date at all. “A lapse in judgment, Patrick. This discussion is over, so if you could please let me by.”
He stepped aside. Thankfully he hadn’t tried to argue with her.
Sticking her head out of the door, she craned her neck from side to side, searching for anyone traipsing around the hallways. Relief flooded her. Great. No one in sight. That was the absolute last thing she needed right now, for someone to catch her coming out of this room with Patrick in tow.
She walked/ran to the bathroom to breathe a moment then hoped for strength to get through the day.
Chapter 4
After work, Patrick walked two blocks to a corner bar to meet his brother, Mike, for a much-needed drink.
Honestly, he hadn’t meant to follow Emma to the supply closet, but she’d unknowingly tempted him with that just-above-the-knee, black pencil skirt, silk stockings, nude, with that delicious slit up the back. She’d unknowingly revved his engine, big time. The skirt hugged a generous heart-shaped ass, lovely wide hips, and a narrow waist.
And fuck, when he’d discovered the garter underneath said skirt, his libido thumped and his groin tightened in his slacks. Thankfully she’d stopped him before things got out of hand, and let’s be honest, he was glad she’d done so, because touching her, being so close . . . it had taken every ounce of self-control to stop himself from going further.
He’d been good at holding himself together and keeping his hands to himself, but today he’d lost control. He’d snapped like a twig under Paul Bunyan’s foot, and God damn it, the tight and dark confines of the supply room had only heightened his attraction to her.
He arrived at his destination, thankful to find his brother already seated and nursing a beer at the bar. General sounds of a baseball game on TV, patrons chattering, the jukebox playing Aerosmith, the cash register opening and closing, and the clanking of glasses filtered through the air.
Mike turned and tipped his head up in greeting. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“Just fine.”
Patrick ordered a beer as well, and within minutes, he took a heaping, blessedly cold swig, followed by another.
For a few minutes, neither said a word.
“So, what’s up, bro?” Mike asked. “How’s the new job going?”
Damn, I was afraid he’d ask that.
Clearing his throat, he tipped the bottle to his lips and took a couple more drinks before answering. “Okay.”
Mike frowned. “What’s with the monotone answers?”
Patrick shrugged. He couldn’t hold his brother off forever, and realized Mike would eventually extract the answers from him. One way or the other.
“It’s going fine, Mike. More than fine.” A grin covered his face before he could even control it.
His brother knowingly nudged his arm. “What is it? An old flame now works at the same firm as you?”
Patrick turned toward him. “How’d you know?”
Mike’s eyebrows greeted his hairline.
“Hey, man, that was only a guess. A joke. Are you serious?”
“Yes. The woman I had that fling with in college, Emma. She works at the same marketing firm that hired me.”
His brother let out a low whistle before taking another swig of his beer. Finishing it off, he set it aside. “And the issue would be . . .?”
This was Mike he was talking to, and Patrick knew he could be brutally honest with him. He was one of few people that knew about his brief, intense week with Emma, and would ever be the only one. The one thing he’d withheld, and that Mike didn’t know, was that he’d had a secret crush on her that’d begun shortly after they’d started college.
“Man,” Patrick said, “there is no issue.”
Mike raised one eyebrow. “Really? Tell me about it. What’s she looking like nowadays?”
Patrick’s mouth began salivating at the salacious thoughts running through his mind. One word didn’t suffice describing her. Mind-numbingly beautiful, seductive, potent, feisty, sexy, hell, any and all of the above. Memories of their time in the enclosed space of the supply closet, the scent and feel of her, and the stirrings of desire warmed his blood, tightening his groin. Thank God he was seated.
He cleared his throat. “She looks . . . amazing. And that word doesn’t even fully cover it.” He took several swigs of his ice-cold beer.
“Now you’ve piqued my interest, dear brother. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more descriptive than that.”
Patrick nursed a few more sips from the bottle, until the empty contents greeted him. He waved the bartender over and ordered a couple more rounds.
Finally, as he gathered his senses, he said the only thing he could think of. “She’s filled out in all the right places. Fuck, the woman is a goddess.”
Did I really just admit that out loud? Oh man, I have it worse than I thought and it’s only been a few days.
Mike polished off his drink and started on the next, letting out a hearty chuckle. He whacked him on the back but offered no comment as several awkward seconds passed.
In the beginning, he’d only seen her as Emma, the girl next door, more like a sister. He’d help her mom, an Army widow, with yardwork and snow cleaning in the winter months. He grinned, recalling Emma had watched him from her upstairs bedroom window as he mowed the lawn in the hot sticky summer months. He remembered her helping him in the winter, all bundled up and shoveling snow.
Then high school came and went, and college was upon them. Long before the trip, she’d begun tutoring him in Math, his weakest subject. Eventually, their time together migrated from the library, to movies, hanging out between classes, and catching a bite to eat.
One night at a party, he’d stopped seeing Emma as the girl next door, and his feelings only continued to grow. He started seeing her as Emma, the girl who had blossomed into a beautiful young woman.
That amazing week . . . He’d been reading it in her body language for a while long before then. How she felt about him and how she’d tested the waters on the beach the first night in Greece, and wow. She’d been like fire and ice, bold, fierce, and seductive as all hell. He wondered, and would kill to find out, if she was still the same way.
Finally, his brother broke the silence, bringing his mind to the present.
“Okay, let me ask you this. What’s the issue?”
“Because I can’t keep my damned hands off her.” There. It was out there, and he had to admit it felt great saying it out loud.
“So, ask her out,” he suggested.
“I tried. She turned me down, said she didn’t want to mix business with pleasure.”
He recalled the heat of a blush staining her cheeks as she’d said the word pleasure. She was vivacious, sinful, and she didn’t even k
now it, wasn’t aware of the appeal that came off her in heaping droves.
A cloud of jealousy loomed over him most days at work since several men in the office noticed her too. Their eyes affixed themselves to her ass, soaking up her curves, and making him want to plant each and every one of them a facer. The almost-constant irrational rub of jealousy annoyed and confused him.
Mike thoughtfully scratched his chin. “Okay. Then bring the date to her.”
He took several more gulps until he, too, finished his beverage. “Now, that’s a mighty fine idea.”
And with that, they clinked their beers together in a toast, and already he felt better, mentally making plans for his “home” date with Emma.
~ ~ ~
Saturday night, and how pathetic was she?
Sitting home alone in nothing but a pair of ratty shorts and an old college sweatshirt. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail. She’d parked herself on the couch, rifling mindlessly through the stations, and finally settled on an old Friends episode. She smiled, thinking of watching the show in her college days with bottomless bowls of almond M&Ms and chips sitting in her lap.
The voices of Phoebe trying to teach Joey French blended with audience laughter in the otherwise quiet apartment. Sarah had left an hour ago, dressed to the nines, out on some hot date with a guy she’d met at the grocery store three days ago.
As Emma shoved another bite full of popcorn into her mouth, she kind of half-wished she’d taken Patrick up on his offer for a date earlier in the week. He’d been so adorable the way he’d asked.
She slunk back against the couch cushions and remembered how his scent invaded her senses in the tiny confines of the closet. The way he touched her, his familiar hands exploring, reuniting their bodies, and igniting a blame that had never blown out. He hadn’t kissed her on the mouth, but she’d have given in to him if he’d tried, as horrible idea as it was. Because it would only complicate things, and she damned well knew it.
Emma shoved the thought aside, already knowing exactly what kind of trouble she could land herself in. In bed with Patrick, that was the kind of trouble she’d land in.
Shaking away her riotous thoughts, she decided a chocolate fix was in order, and Nutella sounded great right about now. Grabbing the jar from the cupboard, she got a spoon and dove in, closing her eyes as the flavors danced on her tongue.
Her show still on a commercial break, she took another mouthful when a knock sounded at the door.
Spoon still hanging out of her mouth, she stepped up to the peephole and lurched back. Patrick, and assessing her less than lovely appearance, she second-guessed allowing him in.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. An amused look decorated his face and one eyebrow arched. He wore a sly half-grin on his face. In one arm, he carried a box of pizza, and in the other, a bouquet of the loveliest red tulips she’d ever seen.
His eyes immediately connected with her bare legs, then traveled up toward her billowing sweatshirt before he met her eyes and she just about lost herself. He unabashedly stared at the spoon hanging out of her mouth, as if it was the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
Swiftly, she removed it and set it back in the jar. She brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead and pasted a smile on her face. The tips of her ears burned as she assessed her unkempt appearance.
“Hungry?” he murmured.
God yes, but not for food, and how was it possible he could turn the most mundane of conversations into something erotic? As though he wasn’t talking about food at all.
“How did you get my address?”
“Sarah gave it to me. She assured me to stop by whenever I wanted.” He looked thoroughly pleased with himself as he handed her the flowers. “These are for you.”
Grasping the flowers, she took an appreciative whiff. “Thank you, they’re beautiful. But what’s the occasion?”
“Well, you won’t go out with me. So, I’m bringing the date to you.”
Stubborn ox of a man, but adorable, she had to admit. She motioned him forward with her arm and allowed him to pass. She made a mental note to throttle, or thank, Sarah when she saw her. She still had not decided.
And if she thought his suit and tie was sexy, this was otherworldly. A completely sinful pair of jeans and a tight black T-shirt. Her mouth went dry as her eyes grazed over taut, wide shoulders and a strong back before finally landing on his gorgeous ass. Oh my, and sweet baby Jesus. Time had certainly ripened his sex appeal, and did it ever show.
She cleared her throat as her wayward thoughts got the best of her.
After shutting the door behind Patrick, she set the jar on the kitchen table. She didn’t know whether she was plumb crazy, or lonely, for letting him in. Better judgment told her this was not a good idea. She watched as he made himself at home and set the pizza on the coffee table then opened the box.
She grabbed plates, napkins, and a couple beers in case he felt inclined. And whom was she kidding? She might need a bottle of liquid courage herself, because having Patrick in her apartment had a dangerous effect on her, whether she liked to admit it or not.
Here she was, an established career woman in her late-twenties, getting all hot and bothered over a man.
Get over it, Emma, you’re not in college anymore.
Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she sat next him on the sofa, turned off the TV, and crossed her legs Indian-style. She handed him a plate, napkin, and a beer. He’d taken off his shoes and looked totally relaxed, as if he owned the place.
As soon as he opened the box, the smell of fresh, hot pizza wafted into her nostrils. Pepperoni, mushroom, and extra cheese—her absolute favorite. She didn’t hesitate as she dove in. “Oh, this is to die for.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He took a bite of his pizza, studying her closely.
Emma reached for her beer and guzzled it down. Patrick’s all-encompassing presence had made her lose her good senses, causing her mind to spin. He consumed a room, just by being in it.
They ate in silence, but the jitters persisted and flooded her tummy. The sensations felt odd, in light of their history, because let’s face it, six years ago they’d shared more than a damned pizza together. They’d shared intimacies beyond compare. She’d shared more than her body, but her heart and soul. She’d given him her virginity on a silver platter. She’d surprised even herself with how carefree, spontaneous, and bold she’d been.
“Thank you, Patrick. I love pizza.”
He inclined his head. “You’re welcome, and there’s nothing sexier than a girl with a healthy appetite.”
She felt her cheeks heat as she took a tentative sip of her beer then set it aside.
Still choosing to keep her distance, she lay back against the cushions. Frankly, she didn’t know if she could trust him, or more to the point, if she could trust herself. They were alone in her apartment and he’d only grown sexier with age. She wasn’t sure if she could resist the temptation of him for much longer.
She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch, covering her legs from the chill in the air and, if she were honest, from Patrick’s inquisitive and tempting stare.
“You know you don’t have to cover them on my account. You have very gorgeous legs, Emma,” he murmured close to her ear.
Bringing the blankets up to her chest, she scooted away from him. “Never mind my legs, Patrick. Just keep your hands to yourself,” she said in as polite a tone as she could muster.
She tried to act as though his presence wasn’t having an effect on her, but the knowing sideways glance he gave her did not help.
“Now, what fun would that be?”
She lowered the blanket, scooting even further away, and right off the damn couch, landing not so elegantly on her bottom, hard. The hard wood underneath was unforg
iving, and her little toe hurt as well. It must have connected with the coffee table on the way down.
Emma looked up to see him trying to hide a smile behind his hand. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. A little sore is all.”
He turned to her, the seductive devil in his eyes. “Would you like me to rub the sore spot?”
Not wanting to show her amusement at his playful and sexy banter, she clenched her jaw to stop the grin.
“No, thank you.” Then, with as much grace she could muster, she got up, patted her sore bottom, and took a seat far away from him on the loveseat.
He didn’t say a word as he followed, sitting on the ottoman across from her.
“Patrick, what are you . . .?” But the rest of the words got lost along the way as he gently grasped her foot, encasing it in his warm hands, holding her like a precious jewel.
Wordlessly, he began massaging her foot, and her little toe started to feel better. In fact, the way he rubbed her foot, slowly, taking his time, and setting her entire body on fire . . . She gulped, unable to stop watching him, as he continued his ministrations. He looked up, and the sensual heat in his gaze made her breath catch, as if he spoke directly to her lady parts.
Large, powerful hands soothed, his fingers did wonders, and the moisture started to pool at the juncture of her thighs. Thank God she was sitting down. “This really isn’t necessary, Patrick.”
He didn’t speak, but continued to rub her toes, rubbing his way toward the sole of her foot. His skillful fingers managed to send tiny sparks of awareness all across her body. How could a foot massage be so erotic?
Her breath caught as he brought her foot close to his lips and gently bit the pad of her big toe. Oh. Dear. God. He locked eyes with her, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her, but it felt much too good for her to even think about telling him to stop.