The Intern (The Dalton Family #4)(25)

“Are you sure I didn’t say anything inappropriate?” I needed to ensure this was all squashed, his response not satisfying me enough. “Sometimes, when I drink, I get a little flirty.” My hand flew to my chest. “Please tell me that didn’t happen. I would die.”

Madison had nothing on me.

He huffed out a bit of air, breaking eye contact to look at his hands. He licked across his lips, his brows furrowed as he glanced at me. “There’s no reason for you to worry.”

“Great.” I swallowed as the dryness faded, saliva finally entering my mouth. “Well, I’m ready to get started. Whatever you need, just tell me. I’m here to help in every way. And, Declan”—I put my hand on his desk, not far from where his were, wanting to emphasize this point in any way I could—“even though I’m a Dalton, I expect you to treat me like I’m any other intern.”

His arms left the desk, and he pushed back into his seat, his eyes roaming as though he were taking inventory of me. “You can take this folder to my paralegal. She’ll know what to do with it.” He lifted the folder off his desk and reached across the space between us.

I grabbed it from his hand, the position causing our fingers to collide.

The quick graze only lasted a second, just long enough for our heat to blend, for me to be reminded of the control he’d had over my body.

Once we parted, a surge erupted inside me—this sexy, overwhelming dominance that took me off guard.

Tingles licked across every inch of me.

They were strong enough to cause my breath to hitch.

To send me to my feet.

To not just dampen, but soak me.

This man … fuck.

“I’ll be back,” I whispered.

I was relieved when I could turn away from him, but that feeling didn’t last more than a moment because I felt his gaze move to my ass.

As I walked out and closed his door behind me, a thought marinated in my head.

He knew exactly what my ass felt like.

What I smelled like.

What I tasted like.

This was going to be the longest semester of my entire life.





SEVEN





DECLAN





Fuck me.

That was the thought that had run through my head every time I looked at Hannah over the past three days.

It had been seventy-two hours since she’d walked into my office. Every morning was a different outfit of the same variety. But each one showed her beautiful, bouncing tits, her lean, toned legs that looked endless in a pair of sky-high heels. Her long, hanging hair that framed the hottest face I’d ever seen.

And her goddamn scent.

The vanilla that I could taste even though it was no longer in my mouth.

Is this some sick punishment?

The world’s way of getting back at me for hooking up with a student I mentored?

For finally kissing a woman after all these years?

To find out she was a Dalton … now, that was a fucking blow. If I had known that before, I wouldn’t have laid a hand on her. I certainly wouldn’t have kissed her. The truth was, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near her.

After she had given me her last name, she’d told me she didn’t want me to treat her any differently.

That was laughable.

Her name was on the sign outside the building.

Her name would be on my paycheck—a firm that I would one day become an equity partner of.

Even though The Dalton Group didn’t have a nonfraternization policy in their contract, it was a relief that we hadn’t hooked up while either of us was an employee. Even if we had, Hannah would have had nothing to worry about. If things somehow went south, those brothers would throw out their best litigator long before they reprimanded their own blood.

Still, I found it interesting that during the conversations I’d had with her—the ones when she was sober, especially the ones when she was drunk—she hadn’t mentioned her last name. Even during the talks that had been centered around her future, that would have been a perfect opportunity for her to slip in that she was a Dalton.

Yet she hadn’t.

When, as a Dalton, her future was already written.

A position would automatically be made for her at this firm.

But those weren’t things she had said at the bar. In fact, it’d sounded like she wasn’t sure where she’d land; she’d just hoped it would be in California.

Of course, she didn’t remember any of those chats.

She remembered nothing at all.

How had I missed all the signs that she was that drunk? I didn’t recall her slurring her words or stumbling. If I had sensed any of that, I wouldn’t have touched her. Consent was my middle name. I wanted my women coherent, so the next morning, they’d remember who had put that ache in their pussy.

But Hannah didn’t.

Now, that was some shit.

Especially since every goddamn moment of that night replayed in my head each time I looked at her.

Like it was doing now as she walked into my office.

“Good morning,” she sang.

Would she still be singing if she knew what had happened between us?

Fuck, I didn’t know.

And I didn’t plan on telling her; that wouldn’t lead to anything good.

But I was still going to admire the hell out of her, especially in today’s outfit, which was a black dress that hugged every curve, red heels that accentuated those sexy calves, and a pair of diamond earrings that made me want to suck on her earlobes.