Before he has a chance to protest, I swiftly walk out of his office and down the hall to the broom closet. I hear his footsteps behind me, so I go quicker. When I make it to the closet, I swing open the door and step inside. He’s right behind me, and I can feel his warm breath tickle the back of my neck as we both stand in the small space.
It’s dark and smells like bleach and other disinfectants, mixed with the increasingly-familiar scent of his clean aftershave.
Before I can stop myself, I’m transported back to my dream on the night I woke up to the terrible phone call informing me that Mr. Peterson passed away.
Lips pressing against my skin, kissing, and nipping along every divot of my neck.
Sultry words and spoken promises that had my heart aching.
I pull myself out of it before I get too carried away.
“There’s a dustpan,” I say, and I curse myself for how my voice sounds. My normal tone comes across way more sultry than I intend it to, making me sound like being this close to him is turning me on. Theo’s large body seems to tower over mine, though there’s still a bit of distance between us.
That distance disappears as the two of us reach for the dustpan at the same time.
His fingers brush mine, and a white-hot shock of electricity travels from the tips of my fingers, all the way up my arm and into my chest.
I rip away from him with a gasp and lean back, trying to put as much distance between us as I possibly can. However, in that process, I bump into a mop handle, and it falls over onto a stack of other cleaning supplies, which tumble down with a crash.
Theo’s hands quickly find their way around my waist, and he urges me out of the way. We both stare down at the floor. Once everything settles, he flexes his hands on my hips, holding me steady. Slowly, he raises his eyes to mine and my body heats under his gaze. His grip on me is unyielding as he pulls me closer to him.
As if time slows down, he brings me closer to him until I’m captivated by his gaze. My breathing shallows as his face inches toward mine.
His eyes are watching me for any possible sign of discomfort—waiting for me to tell him to stop.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
As he leans closer to me, I feel a magnetic pulse coursing through my body, urging me closer and allowing him to close the distance between us.
His mouth slowly lowers to mine until I feel the briefest brush of his lips against mine.
This is so wrong, so inappropriate.
And yet?—
I close my eyes, tipping my jaw up and preparing for him to crash his mouth down on mine and claim me as his own.
But then my phone rings, shattering any type of illusion we are both living in.
Theo lets go of me as if he’s been burned. My chest achesas I reach for my phone in my waistband and pull it out. I frown down at the screen, seeing Leila’s name flash across. I decline the call as Theo takes a few steps away until he’s outside of the closet.
When I look back up at him, his face has morphed into stone. His hand rubs at the back of his neck, his fingers kneading deep into the muscles. His brows are furrowed, and his lips are drawn into a frown.
My eyes fall to the floor as I step out of the closet, dustpan in hand. Before I have a chance to apologize or even say anything, Theo is reaching for the dustpan and pulling it out of my grasp.
Without a word, he turns on his toe and walks away from me and into his office, where he closes the door.
The action is like a bucket of cold water washing over me.
In the few weeks that he’s been here, he hasn’t closed the door unless he’s in an important meeting.
I go back to my desk and fall into the chair. My fingers flutter over my tingling lips, and I close my eyes, replaying back what just happened.
All I can think about as I recall the memory is that I may have lied to the girls at lunch. Sure, Theo is my boss, but there isdefinitelysomething more.
But now, the bigger question comes to mind. What am I going to do about this?
