by Lauren Layne
Oh God, I’ve slept with my boss. This sort of thing really was not supposed to happen outside of tawdry romance novels and old movies.
She should be ashamed. She’d just taken one huge step back for womankind.
But right now she wasn’t thinking of herself as part of the general women’s movement, or as some sort of trashy stereotype. She was thinking like a woman who’d just slept with the man she loved. Sophie plowed her fingers through her hair and tugged at the tangled curls.
I’m in love with Gray.
She wasn’t sure why the realization was such a shock. She shouldn’t have been surprised. It was merely the latest in a string of really, really bad choices. But it didn’t have to be a disaster. She just couldn’t let him find out.
Not that he’d be able to pick up on it. At least if she had to fall in love with the wrong guy, she’d picked one with absolutely zero people-reading skills.
Sophie stood abruptly and went to his closet, pulling on the first shirt she saw. It smelled vaguely like him, and she hated herself for sniffing it.
“That’s an interesting look.”
Sophie closed her eyes briefly at the sound of his voice, and finished buttoning his shirt. She’d never understood how in the movies, a man’s shirt fell to midthigh of the heroine after a night of bumping uglies. All of those actresses must be midgets, because a standard men’s shirt on Sophie barely covered her ass.
You can do this, she told herself with a deep breath.
She braced herself for a disapproving and closed-off grump. Instead, she saw that he looked relaxed and maybe even a little bit happy. If she’d fallen for grumpy Gray, she could really lose her heart over this sweeter version.
“Morning,” she muttered, tugging at the hem of his shirt and tucking a crazy curl behind her ear. “I, um…left my clothes downstairs, so…”
He gestured to the dresser, where her clothes lay in a perfect pile. Of course.
Sophie blanched. “You folded my thong?”
“At least I didn’t iron it,” he said, handing her one of the coffee mugs in his hand, which she accepted gratefully.
“Thanks. I’ll be out of your way just as soon as this caffeine kicks in. Mornings aren’t really my thing.”
“I know,” he replied, mouth hitching up in his trademark half smile. “I’ve seen your morning self, remember?”
“Like I could forget. I work for you.”
Gray winced, and she regretted the sharpness of her tone, if not the words. It had to be addressed, for both their sakes. He couldn’t like the stigma of sleeping with his subordinate any more than she enjoyed the skeeviness of having sex with the person who determined her salary.
It was almost disturbingly ironic—she was far closer to prostitution now than she’d ever been in her slutty Vegas boots.
“Why do you do that?” he asked quietly.
“It can’t just go left unsaid. What happens tomorrow? Do we pretend this didn’t happen? Do I ride you on your desk and dare anyone to question the CEO’s personal choices in mistresses?”
“Stop it.”
She took a sip of coffee and stayed quiet, but inside she was seething. It was easy for him to ignore the issue away. He had a six-figure salary and everyone’s unwavering respect. He could bang a transsexual pole dancer, and people would just quietly murmur that he deserved his privacy.
But not someone like her—if news like this got out, she would be that girl. The one who was sleeping with her boss to get ahead. The cocktail-waitress-turned-secretary who’d seduced the CEO. The slut.
“Sorry,” she said finally. “I think it’s better if I just go.”
He nodded slowly, and she stifled the wave of hurt that he’d agreed so readily. She handed him the coffee mug and grabbed her pile of clothes.
“May I use your bathroom?” The idea of putting on dirty underwear didn’t exactly appeal, but she could hardly go skipping back to her apartment wearing nothing but a man’s business shirt. She also wasn’t sure how she was going to get her car, which she’d left at the park. But she wasn’t about to ask him for a ride. She’d have to spend the upcoming week’s Starbucks money on a cab.
More reason to be mad at Gray. He was depriving her of skinny vanilla lattes and her self-respect.
Ten minutes later, she’d done the best she could with the wrinkled clothes and raccoon eyes and ventured quietly into his kitchen. Her inner five-year-old wanted to make a dash for the front door, but that would only make Monday morning more awkward, so she opted for a quick and painless farewell.
She should be used to the sight of Gray behind the stove by now, but seeing him cook some sort of elaborate-looking egg dish had her shaking her head. Really, how was a rich and handsome chef not married by now?
Sophie cleared her throat in the doorway, feeling more awkward in front of him this morning than she had in that elevator months ago. “I left your shirt on the bed. I figured you’d probably want to dry-clean it or something.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t you wear it for less than two minutes?
“Well, yeah, but…it probably smells like girl.”
“There are worse things.” His gray eyes crinkled slowly around the corners and it was almost enough to have her falling into his arms and begging him to love her just a little bit.
“Well, I’ll be going, then,” she said with a smile she didn’t feel, jerking her thumb toward the front door, feeling like a fool. Like he didn’t know where the exit was.
His face went flat again. “At least have some eggs. I’ve made enough for two.”
Whatever he was making smelled amazing, but she couldn’t handle sitting next to him, sharing a meal as though they were in a relationship of some kind. This had been a mistake, pure and simple. The sooner they ended it, the better they’d both feel.
“You don’t have to do that, Gray. I appreciate the gentlemanly approach this morning. Most guys would have made up some excuse about having their mother stop by to get me out of the house, but we both know that last night was…”
Wonderful, intense, the best sex of my life.
“A mistake,” she finished.
He ignored her and slid the omelets onto two plates before carrying them to his dining table. They’d always eaten at the island before. The kitchen table seemed far too intimate.
“Come sit,” he said, already digging into his food. “It’s getting cold.”
Sophie chewed her lip and glanced toward the front door. Maybe just a few bites. Just so that she could explain to him that this could never happen again and that he couldn’t tell a soul. She dropped into the chair across from him and watched him. He was eating his mushrooms and eggs very precisely, as though completely unaware that he had company.
“You eat your omelet with a knife?” she asked.
“It’s called Continental style. Europeans do it.”
“Which would totally make sense. If you were European.” Sophie dug into the decadent-looking breakfast, ignoring the knife like a normal American.
“So what do you want to do today?” he asked casually.
Sophie’s fork clattered to her plate. “Don’t do that.”
He finally set his silverware aside and looked at her. “I want you to stay.”
“Why?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“I want to spend time with you.”
“Since when?”
“Since—just, I don’t know. Please?”
Somehow his sulky, frowning expression was infinitely more effective than puppy-dog-style begging or standard-issue flattery. She knew instinctively that he didn’t want to want her to say. That he was just as annoyed by this connection between them as she was, but every bit as reluctant to let it end.
“If I stay, are we going to talk about us?” she said around a succulent mushroom.
“What do you think?”
“Right. You’re not so much about the talking. But we can’t just ignore it.”
He sighed and resumed eating like so
me damn Regency duke. She decided to wait him out, and several minutes passed as they ate in silence.
“I don’t know how to explain anything,” he replied finally, sounding a little lost. “I don’t really know what I want, or what’s going to happen on Monday. I just want…” His eyes met hers, and she melted at the bewildered longing in them.
“Yes?” she prodded quietly.
“I’m tired of being alone every weekend,” he said, eyes locked on a mushroom.
She swallowed against the sudden rush of emotion, and slowly the intention of running away faded. She knew that by not leaving immediately, she was signing herself up for the most intense heartbreak of her life, but she couldn’t walk away. Not now.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay. But you’re taking me to the mall to buy some underwear.”
The relief on his face made her heart twist, and she turned her attention to the eggs before he could read her expression.
“I like lace,” he said, plucking a mushroom off her plate. “Lacy panties. Tiny ones. Black is nice.”
“Oh really, you prefer your women in tiny black lacy panties? That’s completely new to me, since most men I’ve been with preferred faded white granny panties. This is so original of you!”
“If you’re going to talk about past boyfriends, I won’t cook for you. We’ll be stuck getting horrible, soggy Chinese food.”
Sophie secretly loved cheap, crappy Chinese. Preferably straight from the box. But she could give a little. “Fine. I can be bought by fine French cuisine. Ooh, what about crepes? What are we going to do today, anyway?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh no, Mr. Wyatt. No more hanky-panky until I have my clean panties. And we need an activity.”
“That is an activity.”
“Such a man,” she muttered. “How about a movie? Museum? Walk in the park?”
“I want to play Monopoly,” he blurted out, looking completely surprised by his own admission.
Sophie couldn’t help her laugh. “You own Monopoly?”
“Well…no. But we could buy it. They still sell it, right?”
“Yeah, pretty sure they still sell Monopoly,” she said gently. And if possible, she fell just a little more in love. She was willing to bet that this man’s opportunities for board games had been few and far between.
Picking up their plates, Sophie cleaned up, and turned back to find him watching her with an odd expression, which she ignored. They had to keep this light or the entire weekend would explode in their faces.
“Shall we?” she asked brightly. “A panty and Monopoly expedition?”
Ten minutes later, they were in Gray’s car, engaged in a heated argument over the radio station, both wearing slightly goofy smiles. Please don’t let this weekend end, Sophie thought.
“I get to be the banker,” Gray was saying. “I’m good at it.”
“You drive like a grandpa. I think that bicyclist just passed us.”
“I’m safe,” he replied.
“Yes, that’s very shocking to everyone who knows you. I’m driving home.”
“No. No way,” he said, turning on his blinker a full five minutes before the turn toward the mall.
“Fine, then. I think Victoria’s Secret has a sale on white, full-coverage cotton diapers.”
Gray groaned. “You kill me. What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
But Sophie couldn’t bring herself to respond. The answer in her heart hurt too much.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Can I take you out again?”
Brynn looked up at the handsome man standing on her front porch and wondered why she didn’t feel more than an indifferent hum.
Evan McCain was perfect for her. Handsome, successful, conventional. A lawyer. Stable. But the first date, which was perfect on paper, had been merely pleasant. All of her usual criteria were fulfilled, but she couldn’t seem to muster any excitement about a future date.
She studied his classically attractive face, and assessed. Her parents would love him—he was the ultimate son-in-law material. Her friends would approve. He’d fit in perfectly at Trish’s elaborate dinner parties.
Sophie would be the only one less than impressed. She’d write him off as “too perfect,” which had never made sense to Brynn. What was better than perfect? Brynn had never understood why Sophie craved unpredictability, passion, and change. It was so messy.
But for the first time in her adult life, Brynn was beginning to wonder if her sister might be onto something. Perhaps Brynn was missing out on some crucial factor by only dating men who fulfilled her carefully configured checklist of required qualities.
She thought briefly of Will, but immediately pushed him away. Talk about a man who had none of her required qualities. Well, except for the looks, of course. Will was definitely handsome, if you liked the obvious, male-model thing.
Brynn hadn’t seen him since the depraved scene on his kitchen floor a month before. He’d called a couple of times, but she hadn’t picked up. He was probably calling to gloat that he’d found her underwear, which they’d been unable to locate during the awkward morning after. Brynn wasn’t adept at spontaneous sexual encounters, and she certainly had no idea how to handle the aftermath of that particular mistake.
She’d was ashamed to admit that she’d even lied to her family about having to work on Sunday nights in order to avoid seeing Will at dinner.
“Brynn? Have I lost you?” Evan asked with a gentle smile. “How about next weekend?”
Oh, what the hell. The guy may be as exciting as Wonder Bread, but she was sick of being single.
“Sure!” she agreed with more enthusiasm than she felt. “How about Friday?”
Evan gave a quick victorious grin, perfectly masculine without being chauvinistic. It should have been appealing. Hell, even a month ago, it would have been appealing. Right up until the moment she found herself pinned against the wall of Will Thatcher’s bachelor pad.
“Kiss me?” she said suddenly to Evan. He looked slightly surprised at her forwardness, but plenty willing.
She regretted her impulsive request as soon as Evan’s head dipped toward hers. But maybe the kiss of another man would banish the demon of that man. She tried to lose herself in Evan’s kiss, she really did. But the harder she tried, the more she realized it wasn’t right.
When they finally broke away, he too seemed aware of the lack of chemistry.
“You’re sure about Friday?” he asked.
Brynn forced a smile. “Of course! I look forward to it.”
He gave her a small smile, looking a lot less interested than he had before their lackluster kiss. He made some noncommittal comment about double-checking his schedule and calling her.
Brynn had given enough polite brush-offs in her dating career to recognize when she was receiving one, but she couldn’t bring herself to care that this was probably the last she’d see of Evan the lawyer. She couldn’t blame the guy—from the way she’d kissed, he probably thought she was frigid.
She sighed and let herself inside, anticipating a hot bath, a good book, and a cup of tea.
The sight of the man sitting on her couch had her screaming like a banshee and dropping her purse. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Will held up her latest issue of Cosmopolitan without glancing up from the magazine. “Did you know,” he said, “that the average American woman has seven sexual partners in her life? Isn’t that interesting?”
Brynn took a deep breath to steady her pounding heart.
“Which notch is Evan on your bedpost?” Will asked thoughtfully. “Five? Fourteen? Thirty?”
“You were spying on me?”
He shrugged. “Open window, perfect hearing. Very awkward.”
Brynn let out a snarl. “Get out of my house. How did you even get in here?”
He sighed as though she was being an unreasonable child, and reluctantly set the magazine aside after dog-earing a page. “If you must k
now, your mother gave me a key. I stopped by to fix their computer and she asked if I could drop off the pie dish you left at their house.”
“My house isn’t even remotely on your way home. You mean to tell me that my mother expected you to drive all the way out here for a six-dollar pie dish?”
He merely watched her, somehow managing to look both amused and disinterested. “No. I volunteered,” he said simply.
“Why would you do that?”
“To spy on you and Romeo, of course. Who was he? Accountant? Chiropractor? Does he supply the retainers for all your snaggletoothed teens?”
Brynn gave a small, secretive smile as though the thought of Evan got her juices flowing. “He was a lawyer. Very rich. Very handsome.”
Will snorted, and followed her into the kitchen. “He sounds absolutely riveting. How was the kiss?”
“That’s some pretty thorough spying,” she said in response.
Brynn pulled down two wineglasses even as she told herself that he would absolutely not be staying. “Why are you here? And no more crap about my pie dish. I’m not really in the mood for company. I’m tired, cranky, and sort of…”
“Horny?”
“I was going to say pissed that you’re in my home, unexpected, without asking. If you’ve come to apologize about our…episode, let’s get it over with and then you can leave.”
He frowned and stepped closer. “Why the hell would I be apologizing? I don’t apologize for fucking, Brynn. Not when the woman is as willing as you were.”
A blush crept over her face. She had been willing. More than willing.
“You’re not seeing him again,” Will said.
“What? Who?”
“That idiot that was stupid enough to leave after one kiss.”
“The Neanderthal routine doesn’t suit you, William. What can you possibly care about who I date?”
The expression that flashed over his face might have been hurt, but it was gone before she could identify it. “Did that night mean so little to you, Brynn? You’re already looking for your next conquest?”
She looked at him more closely. “Aren’t you? Wasn’t what happened between us just the latest move in the power game we play?”