The Lie(56)

After what feels like an eternity, Brigs moves away from the door, and my eyes focus on his taut thighs peeking out from beneath his dress shirt. The show ends when he yanks his pants back on, his brow furrowed in thought and worry.

“Is she gone?” I whisper.

He nods. “I hope so.”

“Does she come by here often?”

He opens his mouth to say something, then rubs his lips together for a second. “How well do you know your friend?” he asks.

I blink at him, caught off-guard. “As well as anyone. She’s not exactly complicated.”

He gives me a look of mild disbelief. “Very well.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “No reason.” He walks over to the desk and moves it back where it was. The place before he f*cked the hell out of me on it.

Jesus.

I still can’t believe we did that. On his desk. That it happened at all. But I still feel raw from where he was pounding me, and the skin all over my body feels worn and bruised. I know I’m already different, lit up from the inside like a hot, glowing mess.

But…now what?

Brigs clears his throat, absently looking down at his desk. “Would you be interested in coming over tonight?” His eyes flit to mine, a shy smile on his lips. “Maybe have some drinks at the bar beforehand?”

I grin at him, completely charmed. “Of course.”

To say I’m giddy would be an understatement. I’m aware of what just happened between us, but the fear that it wouldn’t turn into more has always been skirting around the back of my head. Being with Brigs has the ability to become a full-on addiction, but this shouldn’t surprise me. All those years ago I was drawn—pulled—into his office like he was the moon and I was the sea at the mercy of my wild tides. Now that sex has been thrown into the mix, I’m not sure how I’ll even survive it.

You might not, a voice inside my head warns. Think of your therapist. Think of what Brigs is to you. Protect yourself.

But it’s already too f*cking late.

“Do you think it’s safe for me to go outside?” I ask him, even though it’s at least been five minutes. “Or does Melissa stalk you like I do?”

He doesn’t smile at that which puts my hackles up for a moment. Then he nods slowly. “You’re fine. See you at The Volunteer at seven?”

“See you then,” I tell him, heading for the door.

“Wait,” he says.

He strides across the room with his long legs and grabs my arm, pulling me around and to him, his eyes simmering before he kisses me.

Brigs’ kisses render me obsolete, a hot breeze that threatens to sweep me up and away, to where nothing else matters but us.

“You sure make it hard for a girl to leave,” I tell him breathlessly as he pulls away.

He smirks. “Good.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Brigs




I can scarcely believe that happened.

One minute I was in my office, alone, licking my wounds, the next I was deep inside Natasha, f*cking her on my desk.

Absolutely f*cking her.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as wild and relentless as I was with her, which doesn’t surprise me considering how I used to feel about her. I would have thought there would be a cloud of guilt hanging over my head, telling me we can’t and that we shouldn’t. Any and all guilt was absolved the moment she said, “Kiss me.”

Of course some guilt threatens to raise its head, waiting to come out and play, as it always does. It tells me that I can move on, with anyone but her.

But I only want her.

And I’ve always only wanted her.

I guess that’s where most of my fear lies. Because with Natasha this isn’t a fling and this isn’t a casual relationship. I was mad for her before, and I’ll surely lose myself again if I haven’t already.

I mean, it’s been only a few hours since I was inside of her in my office and it’s not enough. It will never be enough. I watched her walk out of my door and I immediately felt muted and curiously frightened, as if something dire would happen to her between the time she left my office and the time I’d see her again at the bar. Maybe because I know what it’s like to lose so much, it makes the stakes that much higher. The threat of having to go through it all again. Fate might have a target on my back now, loss attracting loss.

But thinking that way won’t help anything, so I do my best to bury my fears and get on with my day.

Naturally, my thoughts turn to Natasha at every moment.

The way her lips parted when the passion was too much.

The liquid gaze of her sex-fed eyes.

The little sounds that escaped her mouth, breathless and raw, as she came.

The memory of our naked, sweaty bodies together taints me and I can feel it with everything I do.

I had been with a few girls before Miranda, and it had never been like that. I’ve had my fair share of passion with Miranda too, especially just after our wedding.

That hadn’t been like that either.

What Natasha and I shared surpasses all expectations and dreams. It’s difficult for me to wax poetic about it without sounding flowery or clichéd. But I guess the word transcendent could work, even though a single word could never say enough. I doubt all the words could.