“Pierce,” he starts, but whatever protest he planned disappears as I close the remaining distance between us. My hands find his waist, and he shivers slightly. His breathing quickens as I lean closer.
“Stop. Talking,” I murmur, watching his pupils dilate at my tone. Then I’m kissing him with all the control I’ve maintained since he walked in, all the protective need his worried rambling inspired. He makes a soft sound against my mouth as I pull him closer, his hands coming up to grip my tie, keeping me in place.
I deepen the kiss, needing him so fiercely that it makesme question everything I’ve always known about being myself. Thatcher’s mouth opens against mine. His fingers slide into my hair as he pulls me closer. My own hands tighten on his waist, probably leaving wrinkles in his shirt.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing heavily, and Thatcher’s eyes have lost their worried edge. Instead, they carry heat that matches the warmth spreading through my whole body. His lips look slightly swollen, and his tie has gone from crooked to completely askew. He still looks as beautiful as the day he walked up to me, holding two glasses of champagne and an easy smile.
“Pierce,” he tries again, but his voice has gone breathy, making focusing difficult. “We should probably discuss…”
“Later,” I interrupt, leaning in to taste the spot where his neck meets his collar. His words dissolve into a soft gasp as I leave marks that his tie won’t quite hide. “Right now, we’re going to talk about proper accommodation arrangements.”
Thatcher’s breath comes in soft gasps against my neck as I hold him close, his body warm and solid against mine. The edge of my desk presses into his thighs. I should step back, put some distance between us, but his hands in my hair make letting go impossible.
“About the hotel,” I manage, though my voice has gone rougher than intended. “Fiona always stayed in my hotel. That’s approved and above board. I suggest you get a room in my hotel.”
Thatcher stiffens slightly in my arms, his fingers tightening in my hair before he starts to pull away. “But,” he protests, though his hands remain on my shoulders like he can’t quite let go.
I silence him with another kiss, softer this time but no less urgent. His arguments dissolve into a quiet moan as Itrace his bottom lip with my tongue, tasting coffee. When I pull back, his eyes have gone slightly unfocused.
“This is not open for debate,” I murmur against his mouth, enjoying how he shivers at my tone. “I’m not having you stay in some questionable hostel or commute from dangerous neighborhoods. We could end up working late into the night, so I’ll need my assistant ready to…assist any time I need.” His protest weakens as my hands slide lower, tracing patterns on his hips that make his breath catch.
“End of discussion.” The words come out more possessive than intended, making Thatcher’s eyes widen slightly. “It’s not necessary, but I’d rather pay for it myself than worry about your safety in some bed bug-infested motel.”
His expression softens. “You worry about my safety?” he asks quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on my shoulders that feel like questions.
“Among other things,” I admit, watching color rise in his cheeks. “Like whether you’re eating properly between chaos coordination duties. Which reminds me, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Somewhere quiet where we can discuss our New York plans properly?”
Pierce, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?
The invitation hangs between us, heavy with implications. Thatcher bites his lower lip as he considers. Finally, he nods slowly, his smile carrying none of its usual mischief.
“Dinner would be nice,” he says softly, then adds with attempted lightness: “Very professional. Just a CFO and his assistant discussing travel arrangements.”
“Exactly.” I lean in to taste his smile, unable to resist when he looks at me like that. “A purely business-related conversation about shared accommodations and after-hours activities.”
His laugh vibrates through both our bodies, making meaware of everywhere we’re still touching. “Very appropriate after-hours activities,” he agrees, but his hands sliding down my chest carry different suggestions.
“There’s one more thing,” Thatcher says, pulling out his phone to show me the CANVAS conference details. “Even if I stay at your hotel, I still need to figure out accommodation for the weekend portion. The conference hotels are all booked, and the nearby options are…” He grimaces at the prices on his screen. “Let’s just say they’re not in my budget.”
I glance at the conference information, then back at him. “You’re staying at the same hotel throughout the trip,” I say. “It would be silly to move hotels for just two days, especially when the conference venue is right around the corner.”
“That’s smart, but like I said, it’s a personal expense for me. VSE shouldn’t have to cover my conference attendance.”
An idea forms, one that’s probably crossing too many lines, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “What if I stayed for the weekend too? Maybe we could do things together after your conference. Or on Sunday.”
He opens his mouth and then bites his lower lip. “You want to stay in New York for the weekend?”
“I haven’t had a proper break in months,” I admit, and the vulnerability in my voice surprises even me. “I could use a weekend to actually relax for once. And I’d like to be there when you get back from your conference. If you don’t mind the company.”
Something lights up in his eyes. “You want to spend your weekend in New York just…so you can hear how my day went?”
“I’ll find ways to occupy myself,” I say, my voice dropping in a way that makes his breath catch. “Room service, maybe catch up on some reading. And then when you’re done…”
“Pierce…”
“Think about it,” I continue, leaning forward slightly. “We’d already be there in the same hotel. It could be…nice.”
The way I say “nice” clearly suggests I have very specific ideas about how we might spend those evenings, and I watch him grip the edge of my desk like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.
