She fit into my life like she’d always belonged there, slipping into the spaces between work and sleep with an effortlessness that should have terrified me. Maybe it did, a little. But the fear felt distant, softened by the simple pleasure of having her there at all.
I found myself checking my phone more often than I had in years, planning my evenings around the possibility of seeing her—dinner plans that shifted to accommodate her unpredictable schedule, late-night conversations that stretched into dawn.
It was the kind of behavior I’d only observed in other people,but now I finally understood it—that gravitational pull, that constant, aching need to revolve around another person. I’d always thought myself immune to that particular madness.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Shay showed up at the medical examiner’s office on a Friday afternoon, appearing in the doorway like a vision designed specifically to derail my concentration. Dark jeans hugged her long legs, a worn leather jacket was slung over a simple white shirt, boots that added an extra inch to her height.
“Doctor Hayes.” She leaned casually against the doorframe. “You got a minute?
“Of course.” The words came automatically.For you, always,I would have said, if it didn’t sound so unbearably sappy, though Shay would have probably gotten a kick out of it.
She quietly closed the door behind her and crossed the room. Her fingers trailed along the edge of my desk before she perched on the corner with feline grace, close enough that I could smell her perfume.
That scent had haunted me for days after our first night together. I’d caught traces of it on my sheets, my clothes, lingering in my house like a ghost.
“Busy day?”
“A little.” I leaned back in my chair, permitting myself the luxury of just looking at her. The late afternoon light caught in her hair, turning the edges golden. She was beautiful in that dangerous way that made men stupid. I never thought there would come a day when I’d count myself among them, but here we were. “It just got significantly better, however.”
“You smooth talker.” Shay smiled, reaching out a hand, her fingers playing with my collar. “Is anyone else here?”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I’ve been thinking about you all day. And I don’t want an audience for what I’m about to do.”
How would any other man react when he heard something like that? With restraint? Professionalism? Some attempt at maintaining boundaries in the workplace?
I pulled her onto my lap, her legs straddling mine, and she made a small sound of approval that shot straight through me. Her hands tangled in my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp as we kissed. I could taste coffee and mint gum, could feel the rapid beat of her pulse where my thumb pressed against her throat. She rocked against me, slow and unhurried, each movement designed to unravel whatever resemblance of composure I’d left.
My hands mapped the terrain of her body—the elegant dip of her spine, each vertebra distinct beneath my fingertips, the flare of her hips, the impossibly soft skin just above the waistband of her jeans where her shirt had ridden up. Her breathing quickened, transforming into little gasps that drove me absolutely crazy.
“You know,” she said between kisses, her voice dropping to that low register that made me forget my own name, “this is highly unprofessional.”
“Extremely.” I caught her mouth again, my teeth grazing her bottom lip. “Want me to stop?”
“Don’t you dare.”
We lost ourselves in it—the heat, the urgency, the delicious friction of bodies pressed together. The rational part of my brain, the part that remembered we were in my office where anyone could walk in, had shut down completely. There was only this: her in my lap, her mouth on mine, the feel of her hands on my skin.
I needed to slow down, to try and regain some semblance of control.
“How was work?” I asked, forcing the words out, trailing my mouth along her jaw, down the column of her throat.
She sighed, the sound caught somewhere between pleasure and frustration, “Don’t ask.”
“That bad?”
“My boss’s being an ass, as always.”
I chuckled against her throat. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“He’s a corrupt piece of shit. What’s there to like?”
The words landed with surprising vehemence, sharp enough to pierce through the moment. Captain James Donovan had always been a sore spot for her.
I kissed the corner of her mouth in apology for bringing up the subject, then the other side, feeling her soften against me.
