Page 32 of Just a Little Tempted

Raina had changed everything. She’d slipped past defenses I didn’t even know I had, made me feel things I’d convinced myself I was better off without. And now, standing in my office with the ghost of her perfume still lingering in the air, I knew there was no going back.

Professional boundaries be damned.

Raina might believe we were fake dating—a convenient ruse to impress Alexander Spencer—but for me, the lines had already blurred beyond recognition.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Raina

I’d never beenso grateful for the relentless pace of Monday mornings. The endless stream of emails, phone calls, and scheduling conflicts gave me plenty to occupy my mind after I’d fled Simon’s office earlier, still reeling from his parting words.

The next time I kiss you, it won’t be a performance, and I won’t hold back.

I’d walked to my desk in a daze, speechless for perhaps the first time in my life.

I’d spent all day yesterday trying to wrap my head around the impossible task ahead of me—pretending to date my boss while harboring very real feelings for him. When I’d arrived at the office this morning, that challenge had still felt insurmountable. I couldn’t stop replaying that kiss or shake the disappointment that had crashed over me when I realized it was nothing more than a performance for Alexander’s benefit.

I’d never been good at hiding my emotions, so it wasn’t surprising that Simon had noticed something was off immediately. Still, I’d tried to deny it, clinging to annoyance and my professional training like armor so I wouldn’t reveal the truth—that I’d wanted that fierce, consuming kiss tomeansomething.

But the truth had slipped out anyway. I just never expected him to lookpleasedabout it.

Now it was mid-afternoon, and I was taking a break at my desk. There was a breakroom down the hall but I preferred tostay here. My cushioned office chair was far more comfortable than those plastic ones.

And maybe—just maybe—I liked being available in case Simon needed anything.

I had my sketchbook open, a graphite pencil moving across the page in careful strokes. I didn’t have many hobbies, but drawing had been part of my life since I was a teenager. My first sketchbook had been filled with still lifes, landscapes, animals, anything that caught my eye.

Eventually, I’d discovered that my true talent lay in portraits. People were what I drew mostly now, especially those I knew well. It was easier to capture someone’s essence when you understood them, when you could translate onto paper the spark in their eyes or the particular way they smiled.

My entire focus narrowed to the page in front of me. I rubbed my finger along the pencil marks, blending the lines to create a shadow along the curve of my subject’s neck. I was so absorbed in my creative process that I didn’t hear footsteps or even sense anyone approaching until Simon was right behind me, peering over my shoulder.

“Who is that?” he asked.

I jolted in my chair at the sound of his deep, masculine voice, the pencil slipping from my fingers and clattering to the floor.

“You scared me!” I pressed a hand to my chest as I spun around in my chair to face him, glaring up at his infuriatingly smug expression. Amusement danced in his green eyes—a look I rarely saw on Simon. Most days, his face was all sharp edges and stern professionalism, making this fleeting glimpse of genuine humor feel unexpectedly disarming.

“I didn’t exactly sneak up on you,” he said, bending down to retrieve my pencil.

When he straightened, he leaned over me to place it on my desk, and suddenly he was close enough that I could feel thewarmth radiating from his body, could catch the spicy notes of his cologne. His arm brushed against my shoulder as he set the pencil down, and heat bloomed across my skin.

He didn’t immediately pull back. He was rightthere, mere inches away. I could touch him so easily, just lift my hand and press my palm against the solid wall of his chest. The thought made my whole body flush.

“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble near my ear, “who is it?”

I swallowed hard and mentally shook off my reaction. “My best friend. Wren.”

Simon straightened and shifted his gaze back to the sketchbook, studying the half-finished portrait with an expression I couldn’t quite read. My stomach swooped with sudden uncertainty. Then his lips curved into a softer smile than I was used to seeing from him.

“You’re really talented.”

The compliment, coming from Simon, landed somewhere deep in my chest and stayed there.

I looked down at the drawing, at Wren’s familiar features taking shape beneath my pencil. I didn’t usually let people see my work. Only those closest to me had ever glimpsed inside my sketchbooks, and even then, I was always nervous about it. Art wasn’t something I pursued professionally, but I poured so much of myself into each sketch that showing them to someone new felt like letting them peer directly into my heart.

Simon’s praise made me want to share more.

“Do you want to see the rest?” I asked, surprising myself with the question.