Misconduct(59)

FIFTEEN


EASTON





I

stared out the window, seeing the early-morning joggers hop over streetcar tracks and puddles glistening with light from oncoming headlights.

This was the time of day when I liked the city most.

Predawn, before the sun burned off the blue-gray clouds, when the city was heavy with the memory of whatever fun had been had the night before but quiet and peaceful as most still slept.

My favorite time.

“Stop looking at me,” I chastised as I gazed out the window, inhaling his scent as he sat next to me, trying to keep the smile off my face.

“No,” he shot back.

I wasn’t used to someone else being forefront in my mind, but I was always hyper-aware of him now. It kind of sucked. In an attempt to calm myself, I smoothed my hands down my wrinkled skirt and pushed up the sleeves of his white button-down, feeling completely out of order.

“Stop fidgeting,” he commanded.

I turned my head to look at him, arching an eyebrow.

“You’re all sleek in your pressed suit,” I pointed out, “and I’m doing the walk of shame in no makeup and men’s clothes.”

He was taking me home before he headed into the office. Christian was due back later today, and although he’d told me I could sleep in and he’d have Patrick drive me home later, I didn’t feel right about being there without him. I’d wanted to go home last night, but he’d talked me into staying again.

Today, though, I had work to catch up on, and he had a company to get back to now that the rain had subsided.

He smiled over at me and reached up, pushing the button to raise the privacy glass between Patrick and us.

“You’re stunning,” he said in all seriousness, giving me that look of his that made me hot. “And you shouldn’t be embarrassed. I’m lucky people can’t see the scratch marks on my back,” he joked.

It made me laugh as an image of the marks on his back in the shower this morning flashed through my mind.

Butterflies fluttered through my chest, and I released the breath I’d been holding. Maybe that was the ticket. Picture him naked, and he wasn’t so formidable.

“If you’d like,” he started in his smooth voice, “I can offer you an opportunity to rebuild your self-esteem.”

I cocked my head, peering over at him. “Oh?”

He nodded. “I’m hosting a luncheon at the house this Sunday, and I want you there,” he stated, and then blinked. “I would like you there,” he corrected, as if remembering he wasn’t addressing an employee.

I shook my head, even as a grin escaped. The gesture thrilled me, though I would never admit it to him. I looked back out the window, lifting my chin.

It didn’t unnerve me that he wanted to see more of me. But it did unnerve me that I liked that he wanted to see more of me.

But at his house? During the day, with other people there? If I were social – which I wasn’t – it would still be awkward. And make what we were doing even less tactful.

“Tyler, we can’t —”

“Not together,” he interrupted, reassuring me. “But I like to see you and not be able to touch you. It adds to the fun.”

When I turned toward him, expecting to see a mischievous smile, instead I saw a serious, even expression that made me rethink my smart-ass comeback. His eyes were pinned to mine, and I turned forward again, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to crawl into his lap.

I cleared my throat. “What kind of luncheon is it?”

“Networking,” he answered. “The city elite, a few politicians…” He trailed off, sounding bored. “Christian will be there.”

“Thanks.” I shook my head. “But I think —”

He cut me off. “You can bring a friend, if you like. Or your brother?”

I sat up straight, steeling my jaw.

I didn’t want to decline the invitation, but I knew I had to. Even if we weren’t romantically involved, it was a conflict of interest to attend parties at a student’s home.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he teased. “I’m sure you can handle the company.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“I’m not nervous,” I argued, turning my head to regard him again. “And I know what you’re trying to do.”

He thought I couldn’t handle myself around his crowd. I’d played tennis with movie stars in the stands.

The car slowed to a stop, and I glanced outside to see that we had arrived in front of my house. Leaves and fronds from a few palm trees in the neighborhood littered the ground, but the rest of the house seemed to be fine, despite my lack of shutters. The ground was still wet, the light sprinkle still falling rippling the puddles that had accumulated on the ground.

I picked up my blouse from next to me on the seat and moved to get out, but he caught my arms, stopping me gently.

“Noon,” he said softly, not really demanding but not really asking, either. “I’ll leave you alone the rest of the week, so we can both get some work done,” he explained, taking his hand away and sitting back, “but if you’re not there, I’ll come to get you myself.”

Despite my best intentions, I smirked, rising to his challenge. Then I leaned over the console and placed an innocent kiss on his cheek.