Page 41 of Man Flu

Chapter Eleven

At least it’s Thirsty Thursday. Or, it will be when I get home tonight. Alone. By myself. With a box of wine.

OTHER THAN A QUICK “THANK YOU,” I keep my thoughts to myself as we cross the lot and park in front of the office building. The elevator ride is silent, despite the loud thoughts of a “Fifty Shades” scene that could be played out in here, and possibly with time to spare.

Maybe that’s my game. I’m uncomfortable, so if I make him uncomfortable, I might not feel so bad. I look up at the numbers on the elevator, ticking by slowly as we chug up to the fifteenth floor, but we’re only at five. He’s watching the red digits too, which means he isn’t aware of the thoughts buzzing around in my head. I can do this. I used to be so damn smooth.

I turn around and shove my hand into his chest, taking him by surprise as I pin him against the wall. I clench the linen material of his white shirt into my fist and press up on my toes before going in for the kill. A cold shiver runs through my core, leaving me breathless as my lips touch his. His body tightens, his breath catches in his throat, and his hands clench my shoulders.

I went way too far.

He pulls away and glares down at me with what looks like anger. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

I can’t lose my confidence now. “What’s to kid about? You said you wanted me. How was I?” It feels like the words of another—sharper—version of me are coming from my mouth. Because this me—the one existing in my current state of mind. I don’t even know if Logan was kissing me back, but his lips are like a ripe cherry that I could lick and bite all day. I haven’t had those thoughts in—nope, never had those thoughts.

“Hold on a minute,” he says.

With a hand still firmly holding onto me, he reaches over and hits the alarm button. “What are you doing?” Shit. I’m getting fired today. That’s that.

“Did you just ask me how you were?” he asks with a guttural snarl.

“Yes, that’s what I asked. Shut the alarm off, Logan.”

Logan makes a sudden move and without an inclination of what’s to come, I’m straddling his hips, in a skirt—thankfully, it’s not a pencil skirt, that would have been an awkward tear. My back is pressed against the wall, and the vibration from the sirens are tingling through my back, but the sensation of his hardness is overwhelming as he places his lips back on mine. His tongue brushes against my lips, urging them to part. Coffee. It’s all I taste on his tongue, and I want to drink him all in. His breaths match my own, heavy and out of control. Still pinned in an unmovable hold by his steel-hard body, his hands are free to comb through my hair. Holy mother of—this is hot. This is hotter than “Fifty Shades.” He has muscles everywhere, and I just want to run my fingertips up and down his arms over and over as he continues mauling my mouth with gentle nips and sensual flicks of his tongue.

Don’t stop. “Don’t stop,” I moan into his mouth.

“Hannah? Are you going to be sick again?” My eyes flash open, and I’m holding myself up on the bordering rail of the elevator wall, watching Logan stare at me from the corridor as if I were a loon. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?” I ask, trying to play it off as if whatever the hell I just did was normal elevator behavior.

“You just told me not to stop?”

Oh, dear heaven. “I think it was just a phantom wave of nausea,” I tell him. Or a delusion of your lips touching mine in ways I can clearly only dream of.

“Yeah, that’s normal. You’ll be okay.”

No, I won’t. I’m not even wearing a skirt today. What the hell is wrong with me? Like I’d ever go after a man like that. Pfft.

“People are going to think it’s weird if we walk in together,” I tell him.

“People are going to think it’s weird that your car was here all day and night, but you weren’t,” he adds in.

I brush past him and pry open my bag to look for my ID tag to scan, but he steps in front of me and presses his ass up against the scanner, holding it there until we hear the door unclick. Cute. No, that’s hot. Dammit.

He opens the door and holds it open, waving me inside. Upon entering the office space, the only thing I see are half a dozen men poking their heads up and above their monitors, and Brielle with her mouth hanging open. She stands from her desk chair and trots over to me in her unthinkably high heels. “Hannah,” she mutters through clenched teeth. With another quick peek over my shoulder, she smiles at Logan. “Good morning!”

Brielle is making a scene as she drags me along the row of cubes and shoves me into my office before closing us inside. “What in the world happened to you? Do you have any idea how many times I tried calling your phone? I thought you were abducted or something.”

“Abducted?” I ask, lifting my brows with question. Who in the world would abduct me?

“Well, you went to lunch with …” she shrugs and does a weird head nod toward the door, “you know.”

“Logan?” I question.

“Shh,” she says.

“Logan knows I went to lunch with him yesterday,” I inform her.