But I don’t.
And neither does she.
Closer and closer, and I know I should stop. I know it, yet I can’t make myself do it.
“Ezra . . .”
She says my name in a whisper just before our lips connect, andfuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She’s sweet. She’s soft. She’s everything I thought she would be as I tug her closer. I drop her wrist, instead cupping her face as her mouth works against mine.
There’s a tiny voice in the back of my mind that’s telling me what a bad idea this is, but how can that be when she feels as good as she does? When she tastes so fucking heavenly. When she lets out the softest whimpers as my tongue brushes against hers.
This can’t be a bad idea. It’s not possible.
Summer steps closer, and it’s not enough, so I tug on her, her weight resting on me.
That’s when I feel it—a jolt through my right hip and down, and I nearly crumble.
I snap back from her in a flash, and I know instantly it’s a mistake.
Regret and shame and utter fucking embarrassment swirl in her gaze, her face falling right in front of me.
“Oh my god!” Her hand goes to her mouth, her eyes wide as she stares at me with horror. “I’m sorry. I’m ... I didn’t ... I ...”
“Summer, wait.” I push off the desk, and my hip screams at me so fucking loud, I sit right back down. I gnash my teeth together, trying to fight the ache, but it’s too much. My leg is completely stiff, my body coursing with pain. “Fuck, I—”
She shakes her head. “No, I . . . I . . .”
It’s the last thing she says before she turns and runs out of my office.
Chapter Ten
Summer
My role at the cidery has significantly changed in the last couple of days.
I’ve gone from working closely with Warner to now working beside Ezra, and that would be fine if I hadn’t kissed him.
I kissed him!
He’smy boss, and I fucking kissed him.
What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t, clearly. How could I? He had just said all those nice things to me, and every single intelligent thought I’d ever had flew right out the window. How pathetic is that? A man says something nice, and I fold completely.
God, the look of pure torture on his face when he pulled away is something that’s haunted me ever since.
Now everything is awkward, and it’s all my fault.
I’ve done a good job of not looking him in the eyes since it happened, which is a damn miracle, if you ask me.
Together we’ve ordered an appropriately sized stove and oven, actual storage, a new light for the fridge, and three prep tables that they were in desperate need of. Next up is replacing all the other odds and ends, including those horrid mixing bowls they had that were cracked in at least two spots.
It’s only just scratching the surface, but it’s a good start.
“What about brussels sprouts?”
