Irresistible (Cloverleigh Farms #1)(50)

I groaned. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Well, the spot next to me is yours any time you can get away.”

“Thanks. I wish I knew when that would be.”

“What about the night of the wedding?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah, my folks will be here then. That’s a possibility.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t get my hopes up,” she said quickly. “It’s just an idea.”

“I like it.” I exhaled. “Let me see what I can do.”

“Okay.” She yawned, then giggled. “You tired me out from clear across town.”

“Here’s where I make a joke about how big my dick is.”

“It’s no joke,” she said. “And I’ll be thinking about it every night about this time until I can have you to myself again.”

“You really do want to torture me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She laughed softly. “And no. I just want to be with you, that’s all. I know this is brand new, but it feels really good.”

“It does.”

“So forgive me if I get a little carried away. I’ve had these feelings for you for so long, I hardly remember a time when you didn’t make my heart pound.”

“Really?”

“Really. But I was convinced you only saw me as a kid.”

I snorted. “Nope. I mean, I thought you were too young and way off limits, but I remember last year at the Christmas party wanting to throw you over my shoulder, take you back to my office, and fuck you on my desk.”

“What?” she screeched. “You never said anything!”

“What the hell would I have said?” I asked, laughing. “Your parents were in the room. And my kids. And everyone we work with.”

“I guess. But jeez. I wish I would have known. You hid it well.”

“I had to. I told myself it was wrong to want you that way.”

“Have you changed your mind yet?” she asked softly.

“That’s a good question.” I decided to be honest. “Yes and no. I’m still worried about what your parents will think. And I worry about what will happen when you realize I’m not worth all the shit you have to put up with.”

“What do you think will happen?” she asked.

“You’ll move on because you know you deserve better,” I said simply. “And I’ll let you, because I’ll know it too.” I know it already, I thought.

“If that’s what you think, then you don’t know me very well, Declan MacAllister. So I guess it’s up to me to prove you wrong.”

I smiled, picturing that stubborn tilt of her chin. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She blew a kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

While I was in the shower, I wondered what it was going to be like seeing her at work this week. Actually, not only this week but from now on. Would it be obvious to everyone that we were … involved?

Maybe it was stupid of me to think we had to hide it. Maybe this uneasy feeling was due to exhaustion and worry rather than any real reason to think things wouldn’t be okay. Maybe I was letting my failed romantic past and divorced dad guilt overshadow the possibility of this new relationship. After all, I was still human. I still needed companionship now and then. I still craved human—adult human—connection from time to time. Frannie was sexy and fun and easygoing, she fit seamlessly into our lives, and she was reconnecting me to a piece of myself I’d lost—the part that wasn’t anyone’s father. I loved the way I felt when I was with her.

But deep down, I knew it couldn’t last.





*



The next morning when I walked into the inn, she looked up from where she was helping guests at the desk and grinned at me. Not a casual grin, either—a we’re secretly fucking grin, accompanied by a mischievous gleam in her eye.

And I gave it right back to her. I couldn’t help it. But I bid her and the guests a very formal “good morning,” which she returned just as formally, as if she hadn’t been whispering dirty things to me on the phone while I jerked off last night. I felt like a teenager sneaking out of her bedroom without getting caught as I headed down the hall toward my office.

Over the next couple days, we exchanged that grin often but behaved ourselves pretty well. When we passed each other in the hallway or lobby at work, we did our best to keep straight faces, but sometimes I’d squeeze her hand or sneak a kiss if no one was watching. Each night we’d text or chat once I got the kids in bed.

Late in the afternoon on Wednesday, there was a knock on my open office door. When I looked up and saw her, my heart began to race. “Hey, you. How’s your day?”

“Great,” she said, hugging some papers to her chest. “Got a minute?”

“Of course.” I stood up from my chair and walked around my desk toward her. “Come on in. Take a seat.”

She entered my office and I shut the door. Then, before she was out of reach, I grabbed her arm, tugged her back, and pushed her up against the door. “But first.”

Caging her in, I slanted my lips over hers and kissed her like I wished I could have done last night, tasting her, teasing her tongue with mine, pressing my body against hers. Whatever she’d been carrying dropped to our feet and she slid her hands up my chest. Into my hair. Around my neck.