I can feel his gaze on my back. His eyes burn my skin as they roam up and down my body. I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. I can picture his piercing blue eyes perusing me.
I wonder if he’s staring at my ass. It does look good in these jeans.
Shit. Nope. I’m married. Happily married. Well, happy enough. I’m not a cheater. I shift uncomfortably again and roll my shoulders, letting out a long breath.
I am not weak. I am in control.
78 of 120
79 of 120
80 of 120
The numbers flick across the screen as the copier continues to spit out paper. My eyes remain glued to the screen, willing it to go quicker so I can escape. His presence seems to be sucking all the air out of the room. Suddenly, he moves and he’s on me, behind me, caging me in. So close I can feel the warmth of him. My breath catches in my throat and I let out a small noise of surprise.
“When was the last time you had fun, Ms. Clarke?” he whispers in my ear, the stubble along his jaw tickling the soft skin along my lobe. I swallow down the slightly shocked sound that wants to escape my throat.
His hand lands lightly on my hip, his fingers tightening just enough to cause my core to clench. He has me cornered against the copier with nowhere to run, so when his hand pushes against me slightly, commanding me to turn, I have no choice but to relent to him.
“It’s Mrs. Clarke,” I correct him as I turn.
He is so, very tall, probably close to six-four, with broad muscular shoulders. Everything about him is sharp edges. Even the blue of his eyes is sharp, like broken sheets of thick ice. His black hair is long enough to be considered slightly shaggy but well-groomed enough to be considered stylish. Every inch of him is hard and rough and entirely too tempting.
“You didn’t answer my question, Ms. Clarke.” His voice is so low, almost a whisper, and it wraps around me, causing goosebumps to pebble along my arms.
“Allison.” My voice comes out breathier, less sure and certain than I intend.
He smiles. Not a wide, warm smile of a friend but a slick smirk. Almost predatory.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, Allison?” he asks as his smirkspreads wide enough that a dimple indents his stubbled cheek.
He’s wearing a well-fitted black button down and black slacks. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to give him a more casual demeanor. Dark ink swirls along his exposed skin. Something about the tattoos feels dangerously enticing. Brody would never get a tattoo. Men like my husband would never be caught dead in a seedy tattoo parlor. I bite my lower lip to stop myself from asking him if they hurt to get. It’s a stupid question, I know, but I’m curious how Mr. Parsons would respond.
“Why would I be uncomfortable?”
He steps even closer, invading my space so much that his front grazes against mine, the touch sending a shock to my system. I glance back up, my eyes meeting his icy gaze as he stares down at me intently. My stomach is suddenly in knots, all the breath emptying from my lungs.
“You’re beautiful, and smart, and kind,” he tells me as his free hand reaches up to push a lock of hair behind my ear. The touch is sweet and innocent, but it makes my core clench. “Men must fall at your feet frequently. But I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not at my feet,” I counter as I fight the urge to lean into him.
He studies me for a moment, his pale blue eyes skimming my face, looking for something, before he lets out a small chuckle.
“I’d gladly get on my knees for you, Princess.” His hand moves slowly down to cup the back of my neck with his palm. Tilting my head backward, he forces my neck to strain almost to the point of discomfort. “You know, if you were mine, no other man would dare get this close to you,Mrs. Clarke. Not unless they wanted to lose their hand.”
His fingers slide down the column of my neck achingly slowly. A shiver runs down my spine and I fight the urge to let a small moan slip.
The smirk spreads even wider across his face. His eyes glimmer with excitement as he watches me. Frozen in place, my conscience is yelling at me to shove him away, but his touch feels too good to resist. It’s as if I’m under some type of spell. His hand leaves my arm, snaking behind me to my lower back and pulling me against him.
“Times up,” he whispers against the shell of my ear as he leans down.
“What?” The words barely escape me as I struggle to breathe. His smoke and pine scent is suffocating.
“The copier. It’s done.”
I suddenly snap back to reality. The truth of what I was doing douses the burning flame inside me like a bucket of ice water. Shoving him off, I spin to grab the paper. His chuckle sounds behind me. Was this some type of fucking game? Heat burns my cheeks as shame and fury churn inside me. Shoving past him, I don’t meet his gaze, keeping my eyes trained on the floor.
“See you tomorrow, Allison.” His voice trails me as I swiftly run from the room.
