His eyes ping-pong between mine searching for the truth. Once he accepts my words, he kisses away the tears, only moving again once they are gone.
After he’s found his release and given me another, he slips out, leaving me feeling like something’s missing. He holds me almost tenderly for a while.
He leans up on his elbow, looking over my shoulder at me. “Ally,” he says, and I meet his steady, completely sane gaze. “I don’t want your tears. I like pain, but only the kind that is followed by pleasure. So if I do something that makes you cry, you need to stop me. You have safe words, and you need to use them.”
I shake my head. There isn’t a safe word on this planet that could save my heart. “You didn’t make me cry.”
He blinks once, parting his lips to say something before snapping his mouth shut.
“You didn’t. I was in my head. We’re good. Sex is good. Fucking is amazing. I won’t make this awkward. Promise.”
He narrows his eyes at me as if he wants to say something, but then he just nods once and pulls away. “I should get home, so I can shower before going into the office. Take half the day, I’ll cover for you.”
It is all so…professional. And I hate it. But all I say is a quiet, “Okay.” Then he is slipping out of my bed and down the hall, back to the front door for his clothes I assume.
Chapter
Ten
The ideaof taking half a day doesn’t sit well, so after wallowing in my new found emotions, I pull myself out of my bed and into the shower. I go through the motions of getting ready, while not really there.
Sure, my body isn’t afraid to remind me of what I did last night, and my stomach has learned a whole new acrobat routine for the nerves swirling around inside of me. If it flips or turns one more time, I might die.
I make ginger tea to settle my stomach and a small breakfast of butter toast and banana. Then I head out the door, ready to face the mess I created by not sending Oz packing the second he showed up.
Drawing in a deep breath, I pull open the front door and step into the brightly lit office, a contrast to the overcast morning and threatening rain clouds outside. Sally, the receptionist, looks up the second the bell rings, ready to greet whoever has come in.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. “Mr. Ashbourne said you would be in later.”
Shooting her a tight smile, I say, “It turns out I didn’t need the time after all.”
She shrugs like it doesn’t actually matter to her one way or another. “Mr. Cross and Mr. Sterling are both in terrible moods.” She lowers her voice and leans over her desk. “I think their ruts might be coming on,” she says conspiratorially.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say as I breeze past her. If my stomach weren’t already in the throes of the best acrobat performance of its life, her words would have set me off.
Wade’s door’s shut, and he doesn’t look up as I pass. He has a pile of files on his desk, and his usually flawless hair is a mess of unruly strands. It looks as if he’s run his fingers through itandtried to pull it out of his head.
I open my bottom drawer and set my purse inside before settling into the chair behind my desk, just outside Beckett’s office. His door is open, but I didn’t have a chance to look inside. And Oz’s office was empty, but he has a file open on his desk, so I know he’s here.
Before I can log into my computer, the intercom on my phone buzzes with an echo of Beckett’s voice. “Ally, come in for a moment.” Irritation fills his tone, proving Sally’s words correct.
My breath freezes in my lungs, and I force out, “Right away, Mr. Sterling.”
I wipe my instantly clammy hands down my pants and take a steadying breathful of oxygen. Pasting on a smile, I cross the room to his door and pause at the threshold. His suit jacket’s off, his tie loose, and he looks as if he didn’t shave. It sets off alarm bells in my head. It’s nine am, and he looks like he hasn’t slept. I tamp down on my concern and clasp my hands in front of myself, until he looks up and motions me in.
“Shut the door,” he snaps.
Sally has to be right because he hasn’t been this grumpy in at least six months. “Sir?” I ask, happy my voice didn’t come out strangled.
He focuses on a file on his desk, then brings his eyes up to me again. There’s a fire in their depths that’s familiar. In fact, my body recognizes it so well, from just one night, that slick gathers between my legs. Talk about classical conditioning. And hey, it only took me one night in their arms to attune to them. Go me, those tortured dogs have nothing on me.
“Sit.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk, and I force myself across the space and into his orbit. He leans back and links his fingers together over his abdomen, silently watching me. It feels like the calm before the storm.
I force myself not to fidget, although the urge to pick at my nails is almost overwhelming. “Did I do something wrong?” I finally ask when I can’t handle his intense gaze burning holes into me any longer.
His eyebrows lift slowly, and his lips form a tight line. He slides the file across the table, but says nothing. I risk a glance down at it, and my breath catches. My application for the hunt, with my signature and name, next to my NDA…also with my signature. I wet my lips with a quick swipe of my tongue before facing the firing squad.
What do I say to this? What’s he even asking?
