Same as it was in the office.
Same as it was on New Year’s Eve.
Same as it was five years ago.
We sprint toward the main villa. Halfway there the sky opens up and the rain hits like a wall, soaking us both within seconds.
She laughs, breathlessly, and the sound fills me with exhilaration.
I can’t help but laugh, too.
I yank open the door to the soundproof study because it’s closest. We stumble inside, dripping onto the hardwood floor, and I shut the door behind us.
The room smells like wet cedar. Rain sheets the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and black.
Amara’s shivering. Not from the cold, I think. But from the thrill of running in the rain.
“Is your security team coming inside?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Anyone else here?” she presses.
“Just us.” I should offer her dry clothes. Should show her to the guest cottage like I promised. Should maintain some semblance of the professional boundary we agreed to when I signed her on two weeks ago.
Instead, I just stand there watching her wring water from her hair, and every instinct I’ve honed over the last five years is telling me toshow her to the fucking guest cottage fucking right now.
She looks at me, then. Directly into my eyes. And I see...
She wants me.
I want her, too.
But...
She crosses the room. Three steps. That’s all it takes.
Then her hands are on my face and she’s kissing me.
It’s not gentle.
I respond before my brain catches up.
My hands find her waist, pull her closer. She tastes like rain and lemon peel and something I can’t name but know I’ll never get enough of.
I press her against the walnut paneling, lift her by the backs of her thighs. She’s heavier than she looks, all soft curves and solid muscle, and wrapping her legs around my waist feels like the closest thing to heaven I’ve ever experienced.
Her dress is soaked through from the rain. I can feel the heat of her skin beneath the wet linen.
This is a bad investment.
High risk.
No guaranteed return.
She’s my contract employee.
She—
