Wherever It Leads(35)

I pull my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head and then turn in an unhurried circle. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, my confidence a little shaky. I’ve never done something so forward in front of a man before, least of all a man like Fenton that has probably seen women entirely more beautiful than me. Regardless, I want to do this for him. I want to distract him from his day, make him feel the way he made me feel.

His eyes are wide when I face him again, his mouth hanging slightly open. Silently, I cheer that this is working. On the outside, I try to play it off like I do this all the time.

“Do you see this?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

“Oh, I f*cking see it.”

“Good. Because lots of men might have seen this today.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes burning. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you’re—”

“Fenton? Shut. Up.” I saunter towards him with all the nonchalance I can find, and stop right in front of him. I pick up his hand again. His skin is hot, his palm sweaty. It’s dizzying how much this man can push the buttons to my libido without even trying.

I lift his other hand and his brows lift too. He’s unsure what’s happening. Hell, I am too.

I place each of his hands on my sides. His neck rolls around under his tie, his nostrils flaring.

Any attempt at hiding my state of intoxication is futile. If his fingers would only drop a few inches lower, he’d feel how wet I am for him. I can’t let that happen because I know if it does, he’ll take over and I don’t want that. Not yet.

“Do you feel this?”

His fingers press harder into my body. “Yeah. I feel this,” he groans.

I lay my hands over his, holding his palms against my sides. “Good. Because no man touched this today.”

He jerks me forward until his chin is nearly touching my breasts. I can feel his hot breath brushing over my skin. My nipples harden, my * clenching as he overtakes all of my senses.

“I cannot tell you how lucky that makes you.” He presses a kiss on my sternum. “And him.”

“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

He rests his forehead against my chest, his hands sliding down my back, over my ass, and to the backs of my thighs. He holds me in place, virtually wrapping himself around me.

I can’t breathe. Not because my air is somehow cut off, but because it’s impossible to breathe with him like this. Like he needs me. So I wrap my arms around his head and lace my fingers through his hair and wait for him to pull back.

We stay that way for a long couple of minutes. I can feel his heart beating, feel him calming down from whatever was getting him frazzled. When he finally pulls back, his face is somber.

“I’m sorry for . . .” he winces, unable to come up with the right term.

“Being an *?”

He nods, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yes. For that.”

“Say it.”

“What?” he laughs, pulling back further.

“Say, ‘I’m sorry for being an *, Brynne.’“

“Now who’s being ridiculous?”

“Say it.” I take his hand and press it between my legs. “If you want to touch that again tonight, you’ll apologize.”

“Oh f*ck,” he groans, trying to push into me. I take a giant step back. He squares his shoulders and pastes on a not-so-genuine smile. “I’m so, so sorry for being an * today, Brynne. Please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven.”

He rolls his eyes, making me giggle. “Anything else?” he asks.

“Want to tell me about your day?”

“Not really.”

I shrug and climb on the bed behind him. Grabbing his lapels and tugging, he helps me shrug his jacket off. I toss it to the side and press my front against his back, reaching over his shoulders to his tie.

He doesn’t resist. He leans his head to the other side and I work at the tie.

His jawline is rough and stubbly, brushing against my arm and sending chills up my spine. I discreetly look at his face and take in every bend and nook, looking for some flaw, something that isn’t completely perfect. I come up with nothing.

“My mom always says when she’s had a crazy day at work that it’s just work,” I say, hoping it helps. “So maybe you should just try to think like that. Whatever happened today is just work. Tomorrow is another day.”

“It’s not that easy. Not with what I have going on.”

I free his tie and toss it to the side. I begin working on the buttons.

“There are few things,” he says, “That make me more frustrated than knowing I could solve a problem and being held back.”

“Are you sure it’s your problem to solve?”

He just nods, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons. “Maybe not technically, I guess, but it is. I feel like it’s mine to solve, and the *s I’m working with are incorrigible.”

“Um, you own restaurants, right?”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.”

“Okay. So, what? You need to install a new fire suppression system or something?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I wish it were that easy, Brynne.”

I undo the last button and remove his shirt, nearly gasping. His back is on full display, and for a second, I forget about our conversation. I take in the ridges of his muscles, the dips and swells of each piece. His shoulders are broad, everything rippling like a work of art when he glances at me over his shoulder and catches me admiring his body.