I should stop. I should step back.
“Then put me down,” she whispers.
I hesitate.
I don’t want to.
But I do.
She pulls away, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling too fast.
“I guess I don’t have the job.” She lets out a small laugh.
I cock my head. “No, Brooklyn. You don’t want the job.”
She folds her arms, pushing her breasts up higher, testing my control.
“How do you know what I want?” she challenges.
I smirk. “Call it a hunch.”
I shouldn’t have given her my number.
I shouldn’t have offered her another job.
I shouldn’t have let her walk away.
But as the elevator doors close, as I stare at the space where she just stood, I already know.
She’s mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
I sink into my chair, rubbing my jaw, still smelling her fucking lavender scent on my clothes.
Tom steps into the room, smirking. “She’s something, huh?”
I drained my bourbon in one gulp.
“She’s trouble,” I mutter.
Tom chuckles. “Since when do you back away from trouble?”
I don’t.
And I won’t.
Brooklyn Lane is off limits.
But I’ve never met a limit I wasn’t willing to push.
Brooklyn
I’d left Mr Walkers building a little more excited than I had arrived, I’d been terrified as the shivers had crawled through my body, each time he’d come near me my body had yearned for more, just something as simple as his warm breath had the excitement spreading between my legs. But that was wrong.
I shouldn’t have been looking at him the way I had or been having the kind of thoughts that I was having.
After all, Dean Walker was my best friend’s dad.
