“I need some.”
I hated the desperate, breathless sound of my voice, and I especially hated that she affected me so much. Andy fucking Asani was turning me into a madman. Not your run-of-the-mill madman, either. The kind of madman who dedicated half of his brain space to concealing erections.
“Yes, it appears that you do.” He stood, staring at me for several beats. “I presume you’d prefer it on the rocks, so…” His voice trailed off as he rolled his eyes at me and left his office. I dropped onto his tufted leather sofa with a thud.
It was an accident. I apologized. Simple as that. It’s not as if I grabbed her ass or put her hand on my throbbing cock. I just rubbed her fingers while every cell in my body tingled with awareness and unquestionably perverted thoughts inundated my mind.
And I smelled her hair.
Honest mistake.
“G and T?” Sam asked upon his return, gently closing the door behind him. I knew he was making a point about me being a noisy bastard and clambering around the office like a Neanderthal, but I didn’t care.
Scrubbing my hand across my face, I tried to wipe the memory of her intrigued expression but it appeared every time I closed my eyes. She wanted to know why her creepy boss was touching her, and she definitely did not give me that face because she felt anything other than supreme discomfort. Creepy was the only sensible explanation.
“G hold the T,” I groaned. She didn’t watch me with those dark eyes because she enjoyed any part of my assault on her slim hand or my proximity to her mouth. “We should build a liquor cabinet.”
But God almighty, those fingers were like satin.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” Sam busied himself at the built-in cabinets behind his desk while I stared at the ceiling. “Did Larry bust your balls over St. James Avenue again? I can send Alberto out there to consult on the—”
“No, no. Definitely not Larry. Not an inspector.”
Just an incredibly hot apprentice who was spending altogether too much time saying “hm” and solving irreconcilably difficult problems in eight seconds flat and licking drops of salsa off her lips.
Fuck. My. Life.
It wasn’t bad enough her legs were actually a mile long, but her tight little ass demanded an altar in its honor. Did she not know how she looked in those pants? How could shenot?
Or that every time she knelt to measure or inspect something, the fabric pulled across her slender backside and exposed a sliver of skin above her waistband? Growing old staring at that inch of skin sounded like my new retirement strategy.
Sam handed me a tumbler, and I sucked the liquid down in three gulps. I coughed, instantly regretting that decision and feeling the spicy tang of the barbacoa sauce bubbling up my throat.
“Are you going to be okay?” Sam sat across from me in a club chair, his legs crossed while he angled his head in confusion. “You just shotgunned straight gin.”
“Fine,” I coughed, mentally negotiating with my stomach to keep its contents from coming back up. Sam would hire a crew to strip his office to the studs in the event I vomited in his pristine space, and send me the bill.
“Are you going to read me in?” He picked at a speck of lint on his trousers and arched an eyebrow. “Is this about the new girl?”
I shook my head vigorously and leaned forward, propping my elbows on my knees and running my fingers through my hair. I probably looked like I escaped from the asylum. “I’m fucked, and I’m a fucking asshole.”
Bemused, his gaze darted around the room before stopping to study me. “Has something occurred that you’d care to share with me?”
Sighing, I flopped back against the sofa and rested my head on a burlap pillow printed with names of T stations. “No, dude. Definitely not unloading any of this shit on you. Safer that way.”
It really was safer if all the insanity lived in my head and mine alone.
“Reasonable, if not a tad cryptic,” he murmured, pushing out of his seat. “I have two projects teed up, and I’m finishing them before the game tonight. I have box seats, and I’m not missing that. By all means, make yourself and your issues comfortable.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Anything else you need before I get back to drafting? A blanket? Some Xanax? A priest?”
“Some fucking willpower wouldn’t hurt.”
I closed my eyes, only to have a vision of Andy’s face greet me while her tongue brushed across her full lips.
*
