Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(11)

“No,” she said, eyes wide, drawing out the word as if that was a ridiculous thought.

“What are you studying? Assuming you’re in school,” I added.

“Costume design. I graduate next week actually.”

“Costume design,” I repeated, letting my eyes drift down her body.

She was wearing a skintight dress with huge colorful flowers. It covered her entirely, with small sleeves and a neckline that didn’t show much cleavage, but the way it fit her left little to the imagination. I could see the outline of her perfect tits—handful size—her tiny waist, and curvy hips. When I looked back at her face she was back to giving me a coquettish smile that I felt everywhere. And when she stood and gave me a perfect back view of her round ass and went to lock the door, I gulped and started to breathe a little heavier. And when she turned around and walked around my desk in long, slow strides I had to close my eyes.

I’d just gotten this job. My eyes snapped open. Surely she wasn’t considering doing what I thought she was planning to do. Fuck. No.

“Nicole, I just got this job,” I said, my words going from firm to low as she swiveled my chair and kneeled down in front of me.

“My dad left,” she said, looking at me through her long, dark lashes.

I swallowed. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“We shouldn’t do a lot of things.”

“I . . . this can’t . . .” I started, but she was already unbuckling my belt.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, her fingers stopping. “Shit. I should have asked that before. Do you?”

I frowned. “Fuck, no.”

She leaned back on her heels, hands still on my pants, and looked up at me. “Is that a f*ck no because you’re opposed to having a girlfriend, or a f*ck no because you would never do this to your girlfriend if you had one? I can’t tell.”

I put a hand over hers to stop her from moving because I was getting harder by the millisecond. “Both.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Opposed to having a girlfriend, really? You’re a player.”

“Not,” I said, my word strangled when she moved a hand to cup me over my pants. “Not a player.”

“You just crush a lot?” she asked with a smirk.

“Fuck a lot. Yes.”

“But you don’t want to f*ck me because I’m your boss’s daughter,” she said rather than asked. I swallowed again and nodded. “Doesn’t that make it more exciting? We can be quiet.”

I shook my head, but f*ck, it did make it a little exciting. One more time and I was done. Definitely. After this I’d break it off, erase her phone number, and just . . . be done.

“It’ll be the last time,” she said. “You wanted to do it last week when you sent me that text. I’ve just been busy with final projects.”

Our gazes met, both hot, both ready to pounce. My only response was to uncover my hand from hers and my f*ck no turned into an instant f*ck yes.





LIVING IN CLOSE quarters with my estranged husband wasn’t necessarily the smartest thing I’d done, especially when he suddenly came back from Canada where he’d been shooting, went out with his cast, brought the after-after party back to our place, and proceeded to invite me to join the fun when I woke up, looking for the source of the commotion. Being half-past drunk and fooling around with the husband I was in the process of divorcing, was an even dumber idea. Not for the first time since I woke up, I rubbed my eyes and groaned. It’s not like Gabe and I hadn’t hooked up since we decided to end things, but we’d steered far away from each other since making things official. I blamed my lapse of judgment on not getting laid in a year, the two bottles of wine I drank before he got there, and that one fleeting moment when he smiled at me when I thought that maybe, just maybe, this marriage could still work.

But that was before a woman barged into his bedroom, where were were almost naked, and asked him where he put the cocaine they’d just purchased. The words, their actions, the fact she knew where his room was and he didn’t kick her out at first glance, kicked my senses into overdrive. I hopped out of bed, fixed my clothes, and went back to what we’d dubbed my side of the house.

I didn’t acknowledge him when he asked me to come back. He never even got out of bed or came down the hall to stop me. Yet there I was, in our kitchen, picking up his mess as I’d done a million times before. I was half-tempted to call our housekeeper, Amelia, and have her come in on her day off, but I didn’t want any more people suffering this divorce.

Our gate bell rang shortly after I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing off things I was sure you couldn’t even find on floors of college frat houses to make my house presentable when Victor came over this afternoon. I pressed the open button on the gate without even checking to see who it was. I rarely did that, but I figured because of the time it had to be UPS or some other courier. Without giving it a second thought, I went back to scrubbing.

This was not how I envisioned this week panning out. Not at all. Not that I’d ever envisioned myself on my knees in this kitchen for any other reason than Gabriel standing in front of me. I sighed and pushed the thought away. That was over. Over. Never again, and I didn’t want it again, especially after last night’s rude reminder. I went back to cleaning whatever disgusting, sticky particle was on my floor at the moment. The loud knocks on my door snapped me out of what was becoming a pattern: scrub, cringe, scrub, cringe, repeat. I let go of the scrubber and stood with a sigh, taking off my yellow gloves and throwing them into the empty bucket. I washed my hands quickly before making my way to the front door.