I’ve been avoiding being alone with Diana since Thanksgiving.
The predominant feeling in my chest is guilt. But I recognize the curiosity lurking there as well. I’m a red-blooded man. Diana is a walking wet dream.
But I’m also thirty-eight and married. I don’t tempt easy.
Andthatcompounds the guilt that even a small part of me was ever drawn to Diana, that my love for Mia could be pushed aside, even for that small inch, that gave this woman the right to put her lips on mine. That I ever allowed my affections to wander even for a nanosecond.
I’m at fault. I know it. I spent too much time with Diana. I gave her ideas. Our professional chemistry is awesome, and it bled out to the personal, just like Huxley warned me it could.
“I wanted to see youalone,” she replies, unfazed.
“I have fifteen minutes before a call with Lancaster Bank. What can I do for you?” I walk around her, sit on my chair, and keep the massive oak desk that my grandfather had built between us.
She walks to my side of the desk and leans her shapely ass against it, close to me. There’s an intimacy in how she’s standing. I never noticed it before. Didn’t think of it. But now I do. Because…that fucking kiss.
“Can you sit?” I wave a hand at the client chair.
She frowns but does as I ask.
She sets her phone down. “I wanted to go over the Kittridge projections.”
“You emailed them to me last night, Diana. I haven’t had time to check them.” I am going through my inbox. I want to look at pretty much anything but her.
“Aiden,” she murmurs.
I sigh. Raise my head. She holds my gaze. Her smile is tight. She appears to be angry and frustrated. “You’ve been dodging me.”
I lean back in my chair and steeple my hands. Once, a business coach told me that’s a way to feel like you’re in control of a room during a meeting.
“We’ve been in at least one meeting every day,” I say, even though I know what she means. We haven’t been in a room alone.
“We’re adults, Aiden,” she croons. “We need to talk about Thanksgiving.”
My heart stutters at her callingitout, bringing ithere, into a space that should not be tainted by nonsense like this.
Who am I kidding?It’s already been contaminated with the personal. I allowed that to happen. Even encouraged it.
Huxley’s voice rings in my head.“They call her your work wife. That’s just corporate speech for ‘you are straying with a colleague.’”
“I’m a married man, Diana.” I keep my tone on the level, even a little sharp. I don’t want to further encourage this conversation. I need to go home and bewith my wife—the one I’ve been ignoring for the past two years since I took over this damn job.
“I can’t pretend that kiss didn’t mean something.” Her eyes are soft, inviting.
Right now, she doesn’t look attractive. No, she looks…malicious. And it is, isn’t it, to pursue a married man?
She’s not the one who made vows, asshole, you did. She’s free and clear. You’re married, and if your wife ever finds out about that kiss, it’ll destroy her, end your marriage.
“I’m going to say this once so we don’t have to discuss it again. You initiated that kiss, and it was a mistake.”
“You kissed me back,” she throws at me.
Shame coats my tongue. Sharp, painful.
Ididkiss Diana back. I tasted her. Let my tongue touch hers. My lips felt hers.
Mia, baby, I’m so fucking sorry.
I give her a measured look, as if I were a man who feels more confident than I do, a man who is on the righteous path when I’ve never been this wrong in my life.
