The Devil Wears Black(85)

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his free hand like he’d heard this speech thousands of times before. “God forbid someone thinks you got dumped by the boss.”

“It’s not just that.” I gritted my teeth. He parked a hip over my drawing board, waiting for an explanation. I looked around. The studio was empty. It was one of those summer days when staying indoors felt borderline masochistic. I glanced at my phone. We had at least thirty minutes until people began to trickle back in. Plus, he was right. We were sharing food, not orgasms. I shook my head. “Fine. Only because you’re twisting my arm.”

“I’ll be twisting a lot more of you after we’re done with the main course.” He winked.

Chase quickly set the table at our kitchenette while I grabbed us two cans of Diet Coke. I told him about Ethan’s azaleas, watching carefully for his reaction. I’d visited Chase’s place a few times since I’d given him the azaleas but knew he’d gotten rid of them at some point. They were no longer on his living room table or anywhere else in the apartment. He’d failed the test he’d set up for himself. Not that it mattered—as we’d both agreed, this was just temporary.

“Flower murderer.” Chase tsked, fishing out a shrimp from his soup with chopsticks and throwing it into his mouth. “That’s a shame, considering Katie has a lady boner for him.”

“She does?” I slurped a noodle between my lips. Katie and Ethan made sense, in the same way cookies and milk did. Uninspiring but legendarily fitting. A classic. Chase frowned, and I realized he mistook my contemplation for something else.

“That an issue?” He dropped his chopsticks to his soup. I nibbled on crab cake, letting him wait. I didn’t like his tone.

“Nope,” I said finally, popping the p. Chase was still frowning. I saw the moment when he decided to drop it. Change the subject. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“Would you accompany me to the bathroom, Miss Goldbloom?”

“Hmm.” I looked around me. The office was still empty. “You can go by yourself. I trust you’re fully potty trained.”

“I’m not sure where the bathroom is on this floor,” he said dryly.

“That is the stupidest excuse I’ve ever heard.” I stared at him, mildly amused by how much he wanted to lure me into his clutches.

He offered me a one-shoulder shrug. “I channel my working brain cells into managing a company that’s worth billions of dollars. Priorities, baby.”

“All this humblebrag,” I taunted.

“You’re right. Telling you I’m good is bad form. Allow me to demonstrate.” Chase winked, offering me his hand over the table. I took it, watching our fingers lacing together. He tugged me forward. I stood up, glancing around and rounding the table to sit in his lap. I had a great view of the elevators and could tell when they opened. It left me a three-second window to stand up. I was safe.

“That’s better.” His eyes were molten silver, darkened by lust. He rubbed his thumb across my lower lip. “Much, much better.”

Our lips met, hovering at first. Our eyelids dropped at the same time. We shared a breath. A pulse. The same heartbeat for a second. His mouth moved on mine. Patiently. Seductively. Almost sweetly. The thing about good kisses, I’d found, was that they were like good wine. They got you drunk before you realized it. They were spell-like.

“Is this HR-manual appropriate for Black & Co.?” I murmured into his lips. “Because it sure as hell isn’t allowed here in Croquis.”

“I’ve never read either, but if it isn’t, I am liable to buy Croquis just to make it so.” He kissed me again, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. I laughed into our kiss, biting his lower lip softly.

“I should feed you more often,” he said.

“You can take care of my dinner.” I kissed him again. I knew we were treading dangerously close to getting caught, but for the life of me I couldn’t stop.

“It’s a date.”

“We don’t do those,” I reminded him. “Remember the rules?”

He pretended to roll his eyes, grabbing my ass and grinding me against his erection. “But we still do this, so let me ask you again—where’s the restroom?”

“Someone might catch us.”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?” I nearly purred. I reminded myself of a virginal, marginally uneducated teenybopper listening to the high school’s handsome quarterback explaining to her why he could use the pullout method and not get her pregnant in the bed of his truck.

“Simple. I know everything,” Chase snapped, his face masklike.

“You’re not—” I started.

He cut me off. “A little faith, Mad. You only live once.”

Ain’t that the truth. Chase must’ve gathered his last sentence had gotten to me, because he smirked. “Come on. We don’t have long.”

I didn’t know whether he meant my lunch break or at all. More than likely, he meant both.

We raced to the restroom hand in hand. Chase banged a stall door open and tugged me inside, kissing me everywhere. I murmured something about the HR manual of Croquis and my concerns about the lack of hygiene in doing what we were about to do. Then lust won over, and before I knew what was happening, I was pressed against the door, Chase between my thighs. He unbuckled and pressed himself against me, nudging my panties away under my dress.