Continuing to chew, I stare her down, taking all the time I please. I couldn't care less about her attitude. What Idocare about is her happiness and her not fucking staying in a hostel where God knowswhatgoes on.
"I willstapleyour ass to me if I have to," I say quietly, albeit a little threateningly. "Drag you up on stage to present with me—I don't care, but youaren'tstaying at a hostel."
"You aren't responsible for me!" She keeps my eye contact as she stabs her salad rather forcefully, making the tines scrape the bottom of the ceramic bowl.
I smile at her temper before clearing my throat. She's not about to like my next words; I'm willing to bet my savings on it.
I take a healthy swallow of wine for fortitude.
“I beg to differ," I rasp. "The moment you walked into my office you became my responsibility—myprofessionalresponsibility, I would go to my death arguing." I wipe my mouth with my napkin, lean an elbow on the table, and point at her. "You once threatened to go to the board for my supposed neglectful behavior once; surely you would have no problem withmekeeping tabs onyou,considering the unfortunate situation you have found yourself in." Her mouth drops open, so I pivot quickly. "That we havebothfound ourselves in, whether you like it or not.” I lean back at her angry gasp, continuing despite her obvious displeasure at me. “I’ll be making sure you stay out of harm's way. Making sure you take care of yourself… prioritizing your self-care, making sure you eat. Which you will do.Eat,” I say sternly, leaning forward and pushing her spaghetti closer to her. "Finish this."
Sarah’s face is comical.
When she leans forward in her seat, her cardigan slips off her shoulder, giving me the full view of the front graphic of her shirt, the curve of her collarbone, and her heavy breasts straining against the thin fabric. Her mouth opens and closes, but shedoesn't say anything. I've got her hook, line, and sinker. A spicy defiance simmers in her eyes that I want to reach inside and feel burning me up.
Fucking hell.
She's an angel, but I bet hereverythingtastes like sin. I cock my head and smile at her in amusement at the play on letters.
“And another thing, you’ll be staying here until you move into your apartment on Tuesday.” I throw that in on a whim, watching the color in her face deepen now into a beautiful rosy-flush.
Leaning forward, I take her hand that's holding her fork into mine, then shove it back into her spaghetti. My fingers prick with the thrill of having her skin on mine.
“Y-y-you!” she stammers, setting my blood on fire. “Youcan’t.”
Noting she seemed to have a contrary streak, I give her an amused chuckle, letting her know that I'm not trying to mean mug her, but I'm willing to utilize every tool at my disposal to make sure she's okay. Until I can make her mine, that is.
We aren't quite in that spot yet, but still.
I think it goes without saying.
“Yes, Ican,actually. I’m going to look out for you, and you’re going to let me. I’ll give you space, but I’ll be checking in periodically.” I take another bite of my food, dabbing my lips with the napkin before leaning back, cocking my head at her and showing her how serious I am. “The one thing Idoknow is you will be staying with me in Vancouver. No hostel, it’snotsafe.End of,”I say sternly, firmly declaring the topic closed.
Sarah doesn’t answer, only shoves another bite of her noodles angrily into her mouth, making her cheeks puff out and chewing fast.
Swallowing hard, she finally glances across the table, opening her mouth to speak, but I interrupt her, “Let someone take care of you for once.”
This time, I can't hide the desire plain as day in my voice. What's more is: I don't want to.
Chapter twenty
Let Me
Boldly,Ileanforwardand brush my fingers across her knuckles. My heart pounds at the contact.
God, baby, you feel so right.
Her hazel eyes land on my hand before they flick to mine sharply and widen. However, she doesn’t move; rather, her fingers flex under mine as I continue to boldly stoke her. She licks her lips when I move higher and caress the soft skin at the top of her hand.
Her breasts rise and fall a little harder, and I can tell I'm affecting her. I just wonder if it's as deeply as I'm affected right now.
“I’m not...doinganythingwith you... I don’t even know you, really. I just got out of a relationship—I just had a miscar—”Her breath hitches, her eyes well up suddenly, and she glances away, clearly overwhelmed.
Squeezing her hand minutely harder, I work to settle her. Because whatever is driving her nerves, I'm not about. At all. And I need her to understand that. “I’m not asking for any of those things, Sarah, I promise,” I say reassuringly. “We don’t even have to talk about them if you aren’t ready. I swear I’m not pushing you inthatway.”
But, contrary to my words, my heart pounds painfully hard in my chest, stealing my breath. My sanity.
But God, do I want to. I wish I could.My lips tighten. I want this woman with every fiber in my being.This fucked-up situation, Goddamn it.
