More Than I Could (25)

“Okay …”

“I didn’t want you to work for me because you would make my life much harder than you’d help it.”

My brows pull together. “How?”

A smile flirts against his lips. “Because I’m not sure how I could go thirty days with you in my house and not fuck you.”





Chapter Ten





Megan




“You’re going to need to move your hands a little farther away from mine,” I say, gulping.

His fingers flex before he draws them back onto his lap.

Holy.

Frigging.

Shit.

“Because I’m not sure how I could go thirty days with you in my house and not fuck you.”

I’m acutely aware that he’s waiting for a reaction—besides my suggestion that he put some space between us. I’m also cognizant of the fact that he can’t gather too much of a response out of that sentence.

That’s too bad. He’ll have to wait.

My face heats as I stare at the spot his hand just vacated. Every nerve ending in my body tingles; every erogenous zone flickers to life, swelling so much that I nearly burst into a puddle of need.

I shift in my seat to relieve the pressure between my legs. Naturally, it doesn’t help. It just makes me more conscious of the fire in my belly.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “That was unexpected.”

I pick up my phone and ignore the pull to look at him. I scroll through my contacts list until I find the name I’m looking for. Then I press the screen.

“Are you really making a phone call right now?” he asks, borderline pissed. “For fuck’s sake, Megan.”

I suppress a grin as the voice on the other end of the phone says hello.

“Hi, Maggie. It’s Megan,” I say sweetly.

Chase moves at my side. I still don’t look at him.

“Megan, hi, sweetheart. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to call so soon either. But I left with things up in the air, and I hate doing that to you.”

“I understand. Trust me. I’m so sorry for the way my son acted. I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

I do. I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“What are you doing?” Chase grumbles.

“Oh, don’t worry about Chase, Maggie,” I say, turning slowly to him.

His eyes are wide as he watches me. Each breath is measured. It’s as if he’s deliberately working to keep it under control.

“I think your son was just dealing with a lot of pressure that he didn’t know how to release,” I say, looking at him and smirking.

He rolls his tongue around his mouth. His chest rises and falls like he’s having difficulty keeping himself in his seat.

Good.

“As a matter of fact,” I say, my eyes glued to his, “I called to tell you that I will take the job after all. I’m pretty sure Chase and I can figure things out.”

I have no idea what Maggie says. Vaguely, I register that she seems happy with the revelation. But as far as the specifics go, I don’t have a clue.

Chase scoots to the edge of his seat, his knees spread apart. My heart beats so hard that it overtakes every other sensation.

He folds his hands on the edge of the table and grins. It’s not a smile or a smirk—it’s the most sinful, delicious look I’ve ever seen on a man.

Fuck. Me.

Literally.

I blow out a steadying breath.

“That’s great, Maggie,” I say, hoping that’s the right answer to fill the gap in the conversation. “I’ll talk to Chase next and see what he wants to do and how he wants to do it.”

He chuckles.

“That’s wonderful,” Maggie says. “I’ll come by tomorrow and check in before we leave town. All right?”

“That’s great. See you then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Megan.”

I hang up before the end of my name is entirely spoken.

There. I place my phone next to the napkin on the table. Decision made.

I take a massive breath hoping to clear the endorphins from my brain.

“I take it you reconsidered,” he says with a teasing lilt.

“Well, you were honest with me. I’m a woman of my word.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. You gave in because I was honest.”

“Do you think I did it for another reason?”

He shakes his head and ends his laugh with a sigh. “We need to talk about some things.”

I like doggy style. “What are you thinking?”

It’s as if he can read my mind. He lifts his brows and places his hands safely in his lap—the place farthest from me.

“The reason I didn’t want you to work for me was that I want to fuck you,” he says.

“Yes. I heard. That was quite the admission, but I’m not mad about it.”

“I’m glad.”

We watch one another, finding our way through a dance that neither of us is familiar with. He seems to want to be careful with his steps. I want to be smart about mine.

Does he believe I feel the same way he feels? Is he waiting for me to admit that I feel the same attraction?