I don’t find it even remotely funny that she crashed in the morning hours after staying up all night working on a fucking project for me.
“That’s not funny, Brielle.” I reach out, needing to touch her. Her silky hair slips through my fingers as I play with the ends. “You should have come talk to me earlier.”
“It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” She brushes me off, but I can see the worry in her eyes. She smiles tentatively before she drops her gaze to the couch, her hands knotting together in her lap. “I just don’t want anyone to think that I couldn’t hack it.” She shrugs.
Seriously? Does she not see how talented she is?
“No one thinks that, Brielle. Least of all, me. You’re incredibly smart, you’re great with numbers, your financial acumen is off the charts. Nobody is going to think less of you because you need help sometimes.”
“Maybe not right now,” Brielle counters. I’ve never seen her so unsure of herself. She knows that she’s smart and capable, so I don’t know where this is coming from. After a second of silence, she gives me a little insight into what is going on in that big, beautiful head of hers. “Do you really think we can do this? Be together, without anybody finding out?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I’ve never tried it before, but I’m willing to find out.”
I pull her closer to me, cupping her chin in my hand to bring our mouths together. The first taste of her in weeks sends my pulse into overdrive. Her lips mold to mine. It’s even better than I remember, having her tongue swipe through my mouth, the exhale of her breath, the fight she puts up to take charge of the kiss.
Brielle shifts onto her knees, and I pull her onto my lap. Her legs part as she straddles me. Her dress rises to her hips, her red underwear lined with lace on display.
I’m stuck between heaven and hell, loving the feel of her in my arms, the taste of her lips, but wanting so much more. I pull my mouth from hers, trailing kisses across her jaw, down her throat, over her slender shoulder where the thin strap of her dress lies. She rolls her hips into me. My hand resting on her ass squeezes in response.
“It stays between us. This has to stay between us, Damian.”
All of the euphoria flooding my sense freezes. I have no intention of broadcasting that I’m sleeping with one of my employees—hell, I’ve got more to lose here than anyone—but her continued insistence doesn’t sit right with me. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed to be caught cavorting with the enemy.
She doesn’t think this is some sort of expectation, right? A sick feeling twists my insides.
I grip her hips, stopping her movement. “Hey, hey. If you don’t want to do this, we don’t do this. It’s as simple as that. We’re not doing anything you don’t want to. You have the right to say no to me, you know that, right? No repercussions, no judgment. I’m not here to coerce you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”
“It’s not that. I do want this,” she says. My gaze roves over her face, and I see it. The hesitation. “It’s just, I’m trying to be smart, Damian.”
I nod, the soft fabric of her dress clutched in my grasp. Being with me isn’t smart. Being with me means she’d be making a decision that she regrets.
Can’t fault her for waiting to be smart. If I were thinking with my brain, I’m sure I would recognize that she’s right. I pluck her from my lap, placing her back on the couch next to me, before I stand and head down the hallway.
“I’m sorry, Damian,” she calls after me. “I should go. I’m going to go.”
“No, stay. Just give me a minute.”
I turn into my bedroom and rummage for a second until I find what I am looking for.
Brielle is still sitting on the couch when I get back to the living room, her hands neatly folded on her lap.
“Stay, please.” I hand her a bundle of clothes, sweatpants and an old, worn T-shirt. “But for the love of God, put something on and save my sanity.”
She laughs, and sight of her smile lightens the air around us, dissipating a heaviness that fell over us.
Brielle takes my offered clothes from my hand. “Should I just change here?” she asks, feigning innocence.
My face projects my thoughts on that, and with a laugh, she takes them to the bathroom.
She comes back a minute later. “Is this better?”
Fuck no. The dark gray sweatpants are rolled at her waist, the legs giving her a parachute pants look. My T-shirt hangs off her, three sizes too big. She looks damn good in my clothes, and an odd sense of pride that it’s my shirt she’s wearing hits me.
“No,” I tell her honestly. “But at least the access is restricted.”
She comes back to the couch, and I open my arm for her to snuggle into. My arms wrap around her middle as she settles her back against my chest. She feels good there, beneath my wing, her head on my pec.
We sit like that for a while, and it isn’t the worst thing in the world.
