Merry and Bright(9)

He went blank a moment, then grimaced. “Oh, shit. Yeah. Look, in my defense, I was an idiot back then.”

She limped to the window, which looked over the courtyard, and farther, back to her own lab. “Hey, my light’s on,” she said with surprise. “I didn’t leave my light on.”

“Maybe you forgot.”

“No. I shut down my laptop, locked my files, filled my briefcase with everything I need to work at home tonight, and then shut off my light. Like I do every single night.”

“It happens.”

“Not to me.” She took a hobbling step toward the door, and he sighed. “Give me your keys. I’ll run back and flip it off for you.”

She hugged her keys to her chest. “That would be against the rules.”

“And you always follow the rules. Even if your gut tells you otherwise.”

“Well, yes.”

“Doing my homework for me was against the rules.”

“I didn’t look at it like that.” She sagged a little. “I was trying to help you, and . . .”

“And?”

“And I had a crush on you. Which you had to know.”

He paused, then let out a breath. “Yeah, but like I said, I was an idiot back then.”

“No, I think you’re onto something. Not about breaking the rules, but about following your gut. I need to do that for this situation.” She looked very determined. “Follow my gut.”

“Which situation?”

She hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“You’re very different,” she said. “Direct.”

“Saves a lot of time. Save time, Maggie.”

“Okay, if you must know, I’m determined to need to shave my legs more often. How’s that for direct? But not for my usual Mr. Right, because my usual Mr. Right always turns out to be Mr. Wrong. Using reverse psychology, when I shave my legs, it’s going to be for a Mr. Wrong, and a night I won’t easily forget. One night, and then we both just walk away. Do you understand?”

He blinked. “You need a razor.”

With a frustrated sound, she walked out of the lab. He followed her limping form back down the hallway. “At least let me give you a lift.”

“No, I’m good.”

He watched her hobble another moment, then grabbed her, and turning his back to her, bent at the knees and hoisted her up.

“Hey—”

“Just a piggyback, relax.” Which he realized was going to be next to impossible for the woman who probably never relaxed, just as she never broke the rules.

“Don’t touch my legs.”

How did a woman like this even have sex? “Hold on,” he commanded, locking her hands together across his chest.

“Oh, God.”

Yeah. If their accidental touch had set off sparks, there was a fire blazing now that she had her breasts smashed to his back and her legs around his waist. He lowered his hands to her thighs to hold her up. Her skirt was long and gauzy, and stretchy enough that she wasn’t flashing anyone behind him. Her modesty was perfectly intact, except for the fact that her crotch was pressed against his lower back, but he decided not to mention that.

But he felt it, felt the heat of her, and suddenly he needed to do some relaxing of his own, especially when he spread his fingers to touch as much of her as he could and she shivered, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.

He understood. But it was one thing to fantasize about the pretty scientist geek, and another entirely to think about doing more than just fantasizing.

As he strode with her down the hallway, a few of his men gave him a second look, some even taking a third and fourth look. No one said a word, though, as he carried her, trying not to enjoy the feel of her legs hugging his hips, her breasts up against his back, and utterly failing as he took her past the offending toolbox and to her closed lab.

Which was locked up tighter than a drum.

“Key’s in my pocket,” she said in his ear.

He slid a hand to her hip, and she sucked in a breath. “I’ll get it!”

“Okay, okay. Just trying to help you out.”

“Letting me down would be helping me out.”

“Sure.” He loosened his hold on her legs, allowing her to slide down his back, making sure it was a slooowwwww slide, because there was something about having her legs wrapped around him, about the heat between those legs— “You have a dirty mind,” she said.

“Hey, I didn’t say a word.”

“You were thinking it. You were thinking about us . . .”

“Yes?”

“Having sex,” she whispered.

“We’d both have to be facing the other way for that.”

“Argh,” she responded, or something close to that, and dug into her own pockets for her key. She unlocked the door, flipped on the lights, and nearly shut the door in his face when he didn’t step inside fast enough. “I’ve got it from here, thanks.”

“Just wanted to see your world.” He stepped into the room, which was as neat and tidy as he imagined it would be. There was a long table against one wall, lined with microscopes and other various equipment, another worktable along a second wall, with sinks and burners and lights, and a center workstation, behind which sat a neat black chair and a white lab coat over the back of it.