Friction(48)

Now, gripping the steering wheel, he looks ... tense. I note his strained forearms and the rigid posture that looks so uncomfortable even I cringe. His full lips are drawn into a thin line, and I wonder what he's thinking. Daisy had mentioned how much he hates interviews, but I figured he would spend the bulk of the trip admonishing me for coaxing him into speaking with Allene rather than in complete silence.

For now, though, I welcome the quiet because I'm not sure what to say. I've been a mess since he took the photos of my hands and kissed me speechless. And that moment between us in his kitchen only worsened the chaos. He hasn’t mentioned either encounter—and he probably won’t—but the thing is, both had happened. And, closing my eyes, I swear I can remember exactly the way his tongue felt dancing with mine in the photo room and how his fingertips moved along my skin just a few days ago.

I want my boss.

I want him to get that taste he talked about that night at the bar, and I want to feel him against the tip of my tongue. I want his hands in my hair and his fingers at the hollow of my throat again. I want to trace my fingers over his skin, even if it's for one night, and that terrifies me because it's so un-Lucy. So unprofessional and filthy.

I want to tell him I can't think straight with him so close because I. Want. Him. And it's all because he had managed to dig his way under my skin with just one kiss and a few words.

Instead, I clasp my fingers between my knees and stare straight ahead as angry rock music blasts from his car stereo. Every few minutes, I feel his gaze scorch the side of my face, but I don't look at him again. Not after admitting that dirty truth to myself.

When we finally arrive at Allene’s studio at 5:28, he says his first full sentence to me since we left the office. As he parks his Challenger in the parking garage of the station's building, he asks me what time the interview starts.

"Six," I say, and he looks over at me, a slow grin splitting his freshly-shaven features. God, I hate the pang in my chest that comes along with being on the receiving end of that smirk. Inadvertently, I skim my tongue over my upper lip. I immediately regret that decision because his focus settles on my mouth for a long beat. I clear my throat, but he still doesn't glance back up. "Is there something wrong?"

"You're always thirty minutes early," he points out.

"There's nothing wrong with coming on time."

My face goes up in flames the second my tongue unleashes those words, but they're also what finally snaps his attention in my direction. He tugs his own lip between his teeth, holding it captive for a few seconds before releasing it. Leaning away until the back of his dark head touches his window, he shakes his head slowly. "Careful, Lucy," he finally says, the soft growl on that initial word coursing a tremor down my spine.

I start to tell him that I was being one hundred percent non-sexual, but he leaves the car without another word. I scramble out just before he punches the key fob to lock the door.

Once we're inside the building, we immediately meet Allene, who is prepping for her show in the large office the station's clerk leads us to. I've done my research on the blonde dressed to the nines in a slinky pink wrap dress and mile-high pumps. She doesn't look a day over thirty, but at forty-four, her career in radio started after she worked as a very successful phone sex operator for several years.

Her claim to fame was no taboos, and she often says on her show that she gave her clients exactly what they wanted (and needed) to make their most outrageous fantasies a reality. Which makes her the talk radio version of Jace. As soon as we step into the office, her eyes slip right past me and land on my boss. She takes him in from head to toe. I feel like the girl from high school who watched cheerleaders and band girls and just about every other female in between flirt openly with the guy, but I say nothing.

Even if the attention she’s giving burns my chest and leaves me clenching the hem of my blouse.

They make small talk for a couple of minutes—she tells him that she's a fan of his work even though when we set up the interview she told me she had never heard of the company. Although his eyes occasionally dart in my direction to sweep over me before returning to our host, it’s apparent he’s soaking up her attention and praise like a peacock.

What a sexy, infuriating ass. I can’t believe he’s falling for this shit.

At last, Allene spares me a glance and offers me a slight smile. I respond with a tight flash of my teeth. "You must be Lucy, it's so nice to finally meet Jace Exley's right-hand woman." Ugh, I hate to admit it but her voice sounds even sexier in person, and it's no wonder she claims to have used it to become a self-made millionaire. Taking a step in her direction, I tell myself that number is probably overblown.

I extend my hand, and she gives it a firm pump. "It's great to meet you, too. Thank you so much for having us on your show today."

She purses her lips together and takes another peek at Jace. He grins, and I'm surprised he doesn't flex his muscles for her since he’s so into this. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got her number when this is all over because I’m sure Allene isn’t off limits.

Not like me.

As if he can read my thoughts, he glances at me again, and the edges of his blue eyes narrow. “Smile, Williams,” he mouths as Allene clears her throat.

"Believe me," she purrs, and it takes all my self-control not to glare at the woman, "the pleasure of having you is all mine." After a little more back and forth between her and Jace—where she completely ignores me, no surprise—she turns us over to the receptionist whom she tells to take us to the hospitality room.