In the hallway I press my back against the wall and count breaths.
One. Two. Three.
When you know it’s a terrible idea but your body has other plans.
I check my reflection in the hallway mirror. Hair’s a mess. Face is flushed. I look like I’ve been running laps.
Or thinking about sex.
Definitely thinking about sex.
I smooth my hair. Take three measured breaths. Remind myself this is just a two-minute debrief about contract details.
Professional.
Appropriate.
Absolutely nothing is going to happen.
I cross the courtyard. Thecarriage house windows glow warm in the darkness. I can see Marco’s silhouette moving inside.
My pulse kicks up.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
I knock. The door opens immediately.
Marco’s ditched the henley. Now he’s in a white t-shirt that’s somehow worse because I can see the definition of his shoulders and chest in even more detail. Not to mention those powerful biceps that held me while I fell apart.
“Hey.” His voice is rougher than it was earlier.
“Hey.” Mine is breathier than it should be.
We’re both just standing there like idiots.
“Come in,” he says finally.
I step inside. The space smells like him.
Oh god I just want to press my face against his neck.
Abort mission. Abort.
He closes the door behind me.
The click of the latch is obscenely loud.
“So.” I clutch my phone like a shield. “Contract stuff?”
“Right. Yes.” But he’s not moving toward the laptop on the counter. He’s just looking at me with an expression that makes my knees weak. “Elena needs your signature by tomorrow. I can forward the final version tonight.”
“Great. Perfect.” My voice is too high. “Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
Neither of us moves.
The air between us is thick enough to cut with one of those colorful practice knives of his.
