“From your ex-husband,” Shane guessed.
Crickitt gave him a searching look. “Yeah.”
That one word was full of longing. Desperate for camaraderie. And he’d gone and kicked open the door, practically inviting her to talk to him about it.
Shane released her shoulders and stood too quickly, causing his head to swim. Oh, how he wished it had been a paper cut. Then he could leave in search of a Band-Aid and escape the emotions pressing down on him from every angle. He was ill equipped to handle his own personal issues, let alone help with hers. He should leave. For both their sakes.
“I’m sorry to barge in,” he started, shooting a longing glance at the doorway. Crickitt wiped her hands over her face, looking small and alone. And just like the night he spotted her in the club and felt the pull to comfort her, he couldn’t walk away.
Settling awkwardly on the corner of her desk, he plucked a tissue from the box next to him. When she accepted it, he offered her another, not sure what else to do. He reached for a third and she waved him off.
He should say something. But what? Your ex is a jerk? I’m sorry? Everything will be okay? Shane drummed his fingers on his knees, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t write a check to solve this problem, and, frankly, he wasn’t sure if anything he said or did might make it better.
Crickitt stilled his jittering hands with her palms. “Don’t feel like you have to stay, Shane. I’ll be fine.” Her words were strong, but her voice was wobbly. “I just”—she looked around the room, lost—“need to go.” She tossed the tissues into her wastebasket, gathered a few files into a stack. “I need to get home,” she muttered again, rising from her chair.
But she didn’t move. Just stood there staring at her hands while tears pooled in her eyes.
Ah, hell.
Acting on instincts he wasn’t sure he could trust, Shane pulled her into his arms. She stiffened against him. He did his best to remain calm despite the fact that wrapping his arms around a crying woman was a completely foreign concept.
“It’s okay,” he murmured to both of them, smoothing a palm over her back. Before his insecurities took flight, she lifted her arms and looped them around his neck.
Shane stroked her back, then her hair, the movements coming more naturally than he expected. Crickitt clung to him, the cries wringing from her lungs causing his heart to lurch.
A wash of anger came over him, directed toward her jag-off ex and whatever he said to make her cry, but he forced his irritation to the side. Crickitt didn’t need his anger; she needed his friendship. He held her until her cries ceased, until her breaths evened out.
She didn’t loosen her grip but stayed positioned between his legs, her breasts smashed into his chest. Ignoring her soft curves was downright torturous, but he forced himself to focus on giving her what she needed. Moving his palm in lazy circles on her back, he offered assurances of “I’m here” and “You’ll be okay.”
When she finally shifted, he tried to back away, to give her space. She was probably embarrassed and wanted a moment to herself to—
The slow upward thrust of Crickitt’s fingertips along his scalp stalled his thoughts in their tracks. As each follicle fell back into place with agonizing sluggishness, a new pattern of gooseflesh cropped up on his forearms.
It’s an involuntary reaction, he thought, struggling to keep his palms flat on her back rather than crush her against him. She probably doesn’t even know she’s—
A hot breath fanned over his neck, and Shane sucked in one of his own, the muscles in his thighs going as rigid as rebar. Before his rapidly fading self-control hijacked his brain, Shane gripped Crickitt’s upper arms to pull her away. He’d offer to get her a glass of water, then find a chair and whip to tame the drove of hormones busily turning him into a horny teenager.
“Sweetheart…” His voice was strained, tight.
Crickitt moaned what sounded like “no” before knotting her hands into his hair, tugging his head back and searing the side of his neck with an openmouthed kiss.
Shane’s nerve endings tripped like breakers. Without his consent, his hands hauled her closer as she devoured and nipped his neck. Then suckled his earlobe, her breaths coming out in short pants. By the time she blazed a mind-numbing path to his jaw, leaving his skin damp and cool, Shane’s good intentions were a far-gone memory.
Until he opened his eyes and took in their surroundings. The fluorescents overhead hummed quietly, a light blinked on her phone to show a waiting voice mail. And here he was, the boss, sitting on his personal assistant’s desk, taking advantage of her vulnerability.
Using the sprinkler system overhead as a focal point, he gripped her arms and firmly but gently hauled her away from his body. Stormy blue eyes met his, heat and sincerity and tenderness mingling in their depths, and whatever practical, pragmatic argument he’d cooked up dispersed like steam from an overheated kettle.
Her plush, full lips crashed into his, and with a low moan of defeat, Shane threaded his fingers into her crown of curls and tugged her mouth to his.
This. This is what he should have done the first night she tentatively pecked him on the lips. He’d allowed guilt to hold him back, resisting with everything he had, but now that he’d given in to the temptation eating him alive, he couldn’t stop. Her hands rested on his thighs as she tilted her head back, her lips pliant and soft beneath his. She silently conceded control and he took it, sliding his tongue along her lips, begging for entrance.
One taste. Just one taste.
She obliged and his tongue swept into her mouth. She tasted of peppermint and thick, hot passion. She gave as good as she got, gripping his tie and dragging him closer, her teeth scraping his bottom lip. She freed the knot with a sharp yank, and he heard the rasp of silk as she slipped the tie through his collar and tossed it aside.
He grabbed for her shirt with both hands, untucking it even as Crickitt worked the buttons on his shirt with shaky, impatient fingers. Her hands were everywhere, and his abdomen clenched, muscles tightening under the nip of her short nails.
Returning the favor, Shane slid his hands under the hem of her shirt, over her contracting and expanding rib cage, and closed his palms over her breasts. A breath hissed between her teeth, and her mouth was on him again, tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat. Beneath his hands, her nipples hardened and Shane plucked them with eager fingers.
Crickitt snapped to attention, mouth leaving his with an audible pop as she straightened her spine.
Too far, Shane realized a second too late.
Moving his hands to her waist, he inhaled a ragged breath, lust fogging his brain and stalling his thoughts. The heat in Crickitt’s eyes dimmed, replaced by shuttered, shell-shocked awareness. He licked his lips, an apology forming in the depths of his throat.
She beat him to it.
“I—I’m so sorry.” Touching her kiss-swollen lips, she surveyed his open shirt before turning mournful eyes up at him. “I—there’s n-no excuse—,” she stuttered, fussing over his shirt buttons.
She was apologizing to him? Shane watched her jerky movements, amused by her clumsy attempt to dress him and regain her composure. He tamped down a budding smile as his hands left her baby-smooth skin. Couldn’t she see there was no way to go back? Not now, not after that game-changing kiss. Brows meeting in the middle in deep concentration, she tried but failed to pull the last button through the hole. He stilled her hands with one of his, pressing them to his chest. His heart gave a dangerous leap as she met his eyes. She looked cute and slightly muddled with her hair tousled in the pattern of his fingers. And again, he felt powerless to resist her.
“Shane,” she whispered.
He didn’t let her finish, trapping her words with his lips. He caught the back of her neck with one palm but held her gently, giving her every opportunity to pull away. She didn’t. He swept his tongue into her mouth in triumph, stroking her for long, breath-stealing seconds, until he felt her go limp beneath him, her han
ds bunching the front of his shirt weakly.
He pulled away and found her looking up at him drowsily, her eyelids at half-mast. “You’re a great kisser,” she murmured. Then a hue of pink stole her cheeks, and her eyes went wide. “Sorry.”
Shane allowed himself to laugh. “Would you stop apologizing? You’re making me feel bad.” He placed a final, full-lipped kiss square on the center of her mouth. “I should have done that a long time ago.”
A vision assaulted him: her beneath him, naked, willing, tangled in his bedsheets. Reluctantly, he pushed the thought away. She could be brimming with regret for all he knew. He was her boss, signed her paychecks, made her schedule…special-ordered the desk he was sitting on. And while it would only take the slightest nudge to convince her to come home with him, he didn’t want her regretting that, either.
“I…guess I should get home,” Crickitt said, straightening her clothing and glancing around as if she was lost.
He heard the question in her voice, felt the longing mirroring his own. She was asking if she should get home. Giving him every opportunity to suggest she come home with him. And he wanted to, so badly. Wanted to pretend there was nothing standing between them. But if they were going to do this, it had to be handled delicately. He scanned her face, her soft features. She needed to be handled delicately.
“Yeah. Me, too,” he said, sympathizing with the flash of disappointment in her eyes.
With superhuman strength, he left her side, taking one leaden step after another. Away from her, he didn’t feel stronger, only weaker. And filled with so much regret he could hardly breathe.
You’re doing the right thing.
“I’d better be,” he growled under his breath.
Chapter 17
Seconds turned into minutes as Crickitt came to the slow realization that Shane was giving her some space. Soon she’d have to face him again and relive the moment she jumped him like a cheetah on a baby gazelle.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. That would be twice now. Twice you’ve thrown yourself at your boss.
Only this time, she’d lost her composure at work. At work. The one place she should be able to control her emotions.
If not for Ronald’s poor timing she would be at home, nuking a frozen dinner and settling in for a Texas Chainsaw Massacre marathon. Despite what had just happened between her and Shane, Ronald’s final words before she hung up reverberated around her like a Sunday-morning church bell. She didn’t know if she could forget it or ever forgive him for saying it.
“Still reeling, I see?”
She jerked her attention to the doorway. Shane leaned against it, strong and solid, his black leather bag hooked on one shoulder. Faint red scratches decorated his neck, and a thread missing its button poked from the collar of his shirt.
My gosh. I attacked him.
Feeling a swell of guilt, she opened her mouth to apologize but swallowed it. Still, she couldn’t keep from muttering, “Your neck…”
“Love bite?” He rubbed at the spot, making it redder. “Good thing tomorrow’s Saturday. This would have been fun to explain in the Townsend meeting.”
She gaped at him, a humorless laugh eking out of her throat. “You’re impossible.”
“You started it,” he reminded her with a lopsided grin.
Shane stepped into her office, reclaiming his perch at the corner of her desk and choking the atmosphere with his overwhelming presence. Was that shame or lust burning a hole in her stomach? Hard to tell.
It wasn’t her fault Shane’s arrival happened to be perfectly in sync with her pending nervous breakdown.
“We should talk,” he said, his voice a low husk.
He sounded so serious, her heart stalled, then pounded extra hard to make up for the missed beat. The last thing she wanted was to talk. She wanted to pretend the kiss had never happened, to be in blissful denial. She wanted to—
“I’d like to take you on a date.”
Crickitt felt her eyebrows rise.
“You’ve left me no choice,” he continued. “Since you singlehandedly nullified our friendship pact.”
She gaped at him. Was he saying she’d seduced him? Hadn’t Ronald just accused her of being lackluster in the bedroom? Yet Shane, a potent mixture of masculinity and sex appeal, wanted to take her on a date?
How could two people see her so differently? And who would she rather be? The barely tolerated wife of a banker, or lover of a primal, potent man whose knees she’d weakened with just a kiss.
There was a heady, downright delicious prospect. Shane wanted more. Shane wanted her.
Shane’s mouth twitched in what she recognized as him barely holding back a smile. He stood abruptly and walked into the hallway. “How about tomorrow?”
She didn’t answer right away. The idea excited her as much as it intimidated her. Was she even equipped for a date with someone like Shane August? Shouldn’t she have a few practice dates with men who weren’t billionaires? Her gaze flickered over his body. Or built like underwear models?
He lifted his brow at her silence, holding out a palm. “Well?”
Crickitt had never been a fan of futility, and no amount of stalling would change the answer pressing against her lips. She reached for her mailbag and extinguished the light in her office before stepping forward and putting her hand in his.
Shane intertwined their fingers, and their steps automatically aligned as they walked through the abandoned waiting room. He stopped to press the call button on the elevator, and the doors slid open.
She cast one final glance at the threshold, her mind whirling. Crossing the literal line from lobby to lift would, in a way, also be crossing the one drawn between co-workers and lovers.
“I promise to stay on my own side of the car,” Shane said at her hesitation. “Think you can keep your hands to yourself, Ms. Day?”
A burble of laughter burst from her lips at his challenge. How did this man make her feel powerful and confident when Ronald made her feel exactly the opposite? Shane dropped her hand to press the button for the ground floor, and Crickitt took a bold step in his direction.
Startled, Shane flattened against the wall, an amused expression on his face as Crickitt poked a finger into his lapel.
“The next move, Mr. August,” she said, issuing her own dare in a low voice, “is yours.”
Chapter 18
Crickitt frantically searched her sparse, bland closet in search of something to wear for her date with Shane this morning. He’d promised to pick her up at eleven, instructing her to “wear something comfortable.” Rows of “comfortable” clothes greeted her. All dull-colored and more function than form. Then she came across the peachy-colored blouse Sadie had complimented her on the other day.
And suddenly, she knew just what to wear. Digging through her dresser drawers, she finally found the bright coral-colored tee and white shorts Sadie bought her for her birthday. She ripped off the tags and put them on, admiring herself in the bedroom mirror. The color gave her cheeks a rosy glow, and the shorts did wonders for her butt. And, for a change, there was a chance of someone other than her noticing both of those details.
She slipped on her tennis shoes and watched for her date out the kitchen window. A gentle breeze blew the leaves on the trees and sent puffy clouds sailing across the late June sky. Instead of Thomas’s limo, a sleek, topless black sports car growled into a guest parking space.
Shane unfolded himself from his car, looking wind-tossed and casual in a pair of plaid shorts and an olive shirt. Crickitt lapped up the sight of him as he strode to her door on long, strong legs leading down to a pair of sturdy leather sandals.
Unbelievable. Even his feet were attractive.
She pulled the door open before he had the chance to knock. His T-shirt strained the width of his chest, and it took her a few seconds to redirect her eyes to his face. He gave her a toothy grin.
“Keep that up, we won’t make it off this porch.” He brushed her body wi
th his eyes. “You look gorgeous.”
So do you, she thought, gawking at him hungrily.
“Thank you.” She slid her hands down her shorts self-consciously. Were they this short when she put them on earlier? Palming a small purse, she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
Shane didn’t reach for her hand or move to kiss her, and Crickitt couldn’t decide if she was glad about that or not. He opened the passenger door.
“You drove,” she said, sinking into a butter-yellow leather seat.
“You didn’t think I’d bring a limo to our first date, did you?”
She did, but she didn’t say so.
In the driver’s seat, Shane slid his sunglasses on and revved the engine. The car rumbled like a live animal. “Ready, Freddy?”
She nodded.
“If you need a hat, there’s one in the glove compartment,” he said.
She decided to spare Shane her Medusa head and pulled the baseball cap over her hair. After a few seconds of his unabashed staring, she sent him a questioning glance.
Tugging on the cap, he swore lightly. “You’re too attractive for your own good, Crickitt.”
Shane navigated the convertible through highway traffic with speedy caution. His hair whipped in the wind as he moved his lips to a song on the radio. He had it all wrong. It was Shane, not her, who was too attractive for his own good.
How about a date with a devastatingly charming billionaire? Don’t mind if I do.
“What are you smiling about?” Shane yelled over the music.
She shook her head. Shane snapped his attention to the road and cars around them, gauged his speed, then leaned over and stole a brief kiss.
Memories of last night flooded over her, the firm insistence of his lips and the feel of his hands grazing her rib cage. As if reading her mind, he shot her a primal, dangerous grin. Whatever he had planned for them today, she hoped she could handle it.
Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance) Page 11