I pull her against me before she can protest, wrapping my arms around her trembling body, sharing my heat. Her skin is like ice against mine, so cold it almost burns, and I feel her entire frame shivering violently as I envelope her in my embrace.
She gasps sharply at the initial contact, the stark contrast between her ice-cold skin and my furnace warmth making her flinch. But then, almost immediately, she melts into me witha full-body shudder that starts at her shoulders and ripples all the way down her spine,part relief, part surrender, and part something else entirely. Something that makes my pulse quicken despite my careful control.
I tighten my hold on her, one hand splayed across her bare back, the other cradling the back of her head, pressing her closer until there's no space left between us. Her wet hair dampens my shoulder. All that matters is getting heat back into her body, driving away the dangerous chill that's settled into her bones.
"Better?" I rumble against her hair, feeling her gradually stop shaking quite so violently.
"You're so warm," she murmurs, her voice muffled against my pecs, her breath creating tiny puffs of warmth against my skin. There's wonder in her tone, almost childlike in its simple observation. "Like a portable heater. Or a furnace. How are you generating this much body heat?"
I find a dusty tarp in the corner, shake it out, and spread it on the floor. Not comfortable, but better than standing. I sit, pulling her down with me, arranging her in my lap, surrounding her with as much body contact as possible.
She should feel fragile like this, all pale skin and delicate bones. But she doesn't. She feels right, fitting against me like she was designed for this exact purpose.
"Your heart is still racing," I observe, feeling it pound against my torso. "Are you still cold?"
"No." She tilts her head back to look at me, and the expression in her eyes makes my blood ignite. "Not cold at all anymore."
The shift happens so fast I almost miss it. One moment I'm warming her, being careful and controlled. The next, her mouth is on mine, demanding and desperate, her cold fingers tangling in my hair.
I growl into the kiss, something primal and possessive, pulling her closer even though there's no space left between us. She tastes like rain and coffee and something uniquely her, addictive and perfect.
"Orla." Her name comes out rough, a warning and a question.
"Don't you dare stop." She bites my lower lip, making me snarl. "Don't you dare tell me this is inappropriate or unprofessional or against policy. I've been cold and scared and trying to hold everything together out there, and I just need?—"
I kiss her again, harder this time, swallowing whatever she was going to say. My hands find her waist, her hips, mapping the curves I've been fantasizing about since that day in the supply closet.
She arches against me, a soft sound escaping her throat that makes every possessive instinct I have roar to life.
"The others might hear," she gasps when I move my mouth to her neck, finding that spot that makes her whimper.
"Let them." I nip at her collarbone, satisfaction flooding through me when she moans. "Let them know you are mine."
"Yours?" She pulls back slightly, her eyes wide and dark. "That's pretty presumptuous."
"Is it?" I hold her gaze, letting her see exactly what I'm feeling, no corporate masks or human politeness to hide behind. "Tell me you do not think about me. Tell me you do not want this. Tell me your heart does not race when I am near."
She opens her mouth, probably to argue, to list reasons why this is a terrible idea.
I silence her with another kiss, this one slower, deeper, claiming her mouth like territory I plan to occupy permanently.
When we finally break apart, she's panting hard, her chest heaving against mine, her eyes glazed and unfocused in that way that makes me want to kiss her all over again. "This is insane,"she manages, though her fingers are still twisted in my shirt, holding me close even as she protests.
"Yes," I agree readily, trailing my lips along her jaw.
"We work together." Her voice wavers when I find the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Same office. Same project. Same?—"
"Yes." I bite down gently, feeling her shudder in my arms.
"There are policies." She's trying so hard to sound reasonable, even as her head tilts to give me better access. "Employee conduct clauses. Conflict of interest forms. HR would have a field day with?—"
I silence her litany of corporate concerns with another kiss, swallowing her protests and regulations and five-point plans until all that's left is the taste of her and the sound of her breathing.
"There are approximately fifteen people on the other side of that door who will definitely hear if we?—"
I flip our positions in one smooth movement, pressing her back against the tarp, caging her with my body. "Do you want me to stop?"
She looks up at me, this fierce Little Manager with her sharp suits and sharper tongue, and her answer comes out breathless and certain. "No."
