He blinks. “Yeah. Sure. Thanks again.”
She slides her purse onto her shoulder, stepping toward the front hallway. He trails behind, flipping on the light switch as she presses her feet into her sneakers, not bothering to tie them.
She spins on her heels, patting her pockets, before she fishes her keys out. She blows out a breath, wrapping her hair into a low bun before flashing him a small smile.
“Goodnight, Roman.”
Her shoes.
Crouching down to her left foot, he reaches out, pressing his fingers into her calf to steady her leg as he lifts it. She lets out a sound, but he ignores it, making sure to double-knot before moving to the other side. When he’s finished, he taps her foot, dragging his fingertips over the muscle of her calf as he rises to his full height. In the process, they’ve inched closer—too close now.
She’s looking up at him, blinking, her mouth slightly open, and he clears his throat when she breathes out slowly. Their eyes lock onto each other and he watches as several expressions play out across her features.
Confusion creases her brow, a trace of annoyance crossing her forehead, but her eyes say something else. They lower and fall to his mouth before moving back up. They search and stare and wait.
And his do the same as he leans in closer, searching and staring, and waiting.
It’s there, the subtle shake of her head, and maybe she does it subconsciously, but it’s enough to stop him. He rubs a hand over his mouth, stepping back.
“Goodnight, Jahlani.”
She exhales slowly, reaching for the door handle and twisting.
“Goodnight,” she says, her voice soft.
Back in the kitchen, he waits for the latch to click, for the tires to crunch across the driveway—then unzips his pants, the noise echoing in the desolate kitchen as he works over himself. He can’t seem to stop his mind from reeling back.
He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but his hand tightens. He catches sight of her cardigan, draped over the back of the couch, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back as a soft groan escapes.
Thoughts of his arm brushing against her—her in his kitchen,is it gone?His palm on her neck, the tension in his stomach builds as he quickens his pace.
He thinks of his thumb on her lip, a breathlessgot it.His name from her mouth, the rise and fall of her chest, her body pressed against his, his erection pressed against his zipper, and he thinksshe fucking felt it she had to haveas he pulls and twists, his breath coming out harsh. The muscle of her calf. Him on his knees, her above him. Her hand on his wrist, her shifting ever so slightly against him, her eyes heady, and heavy.
He braces his free hand on the counter’s edge as he lets go with a drawn-out groan.
His winded breaths echo through the space, and he sinks into a stool at the counter.
“Fuck.”
CHAPTER 22
FRIENDLY FRIENDS
JAHLANI
As Jahlani pulls onto the deserted highway, she tries to focus all her efforts on recalling pi—and none of it on him.
Because they have rules.
Because she’s a professional.
But there is nothing professional about the way she’s thinking about the ghost of his thumb against her bottom lip.
Calm down—nothing happened.
It’s concerning how much influence he has on her body. She misses her exit and turns down the wrong street—twice.
As she bustles down the hallway and into the shower, she decides she imagined the whole thing.
