rubber.
Caroline knelt on the floor, looking into a box. Her rear end pointed straight up at him, rounded and perfect. Perfectly shaped, the perfect size for his hands to cover. He closed his hands into fists against the rush of lust that roared through his body. There on her knees… Every sweaty fantasy from the night before flashed before his eyes. Every little whimper, every little moan she’d made in his dreams filled his ears.
He shouldn’t be looking. Shouldn’t be staring. Shouldn’t be fantasizing about her sprawled naked in his bed, looking up at him with blue eyes glazed over with passion, begging… Oh, God. The things she’d begged for in his dreams…
He swallowed hard, trying to hydrate his mouth that was drier than the Mohabi desert. She shifted as she sorted deeper in the box, her shoulders going one way, her round rear the other, straining that sexy black dress across her curves. He swallowed again. A decent man would avert his eyes, he thought. Apparently he wasn’t a decent man. No, not a decent man at all. He was so hard he hurt. Wincing, he took a single step forward, his feet piloted by the brain that now throbbed in his pants.
Her body tensed slightly, her dark head lifting as she sensed his presence.
Caroline was startled out of her woolgathering when she heard the slight sound, a shuffle across the carpet just as the scent of his cologne reached her nose. She looked over her shoulder to see the shiny black surface of Max Hunter’s shoes directly behind her.
She drew a tight breath. He was back. The room felt smaller just knowing he was in it.
„You’re back,“ she said quietly, not looking any higher than his shoes. „Your supplies are here. If you can give me a few minutes I’ll set up your supply drawer.“ Just go away, she thought, anger beginning to simmer inside. Don’t make me see that I’m nothing special.
The shiny shoes didn’t move an inch.
Caroline sighed, letting her shoulders sag. What did it matter anyway? Don’t even think about it, she chided herself. Don’t even think about picket fences and black-haired babies and „honey, I’m home.“ Just…just don’t. Those things weren’t for her. „I made some coffee out by my desk. Help yourself.“
He said nothing, made no attempt to answer. But she could feel him. An energy that sensitized her skin, made the little hairs on her arms stand on end. Using the corners of the box as leverage, she pushed herself to her feet, turning to face him in one movement.
And stopped. Abruptly. He stood close, staring at her, his face hard and dark, a muscle twitching spasmodically in his cheek, one hand fisted at his side. The hand that clutched his cane was fisted so tightly his knuckles were bright white. Her eyes dropped to his hands as they opened, stretched taut for an instant, then pulled back into fists.
He had big hands.
Big fists.
She felt a familiar panic insert itself inside her, deep down where she couldn’t fight it, couldn’t quell it, couldn’t make it go away. She tried to draw air into her lungs, but the air was too thick. Her feet were leaden, the carpet molasses. Even as her mind told her this wasn’t Rob, that this was Max Hunter, her boss, even as she knew she was no longer in North Carolina but in Chicago, safe from Rob’s fists, even as she knew she was no longer timid, frightened, mousy Mary Grace, her feet moved back a step. By sheer force of will, she dragged her eyes from Max’s fists to his face. His eyes were hard, glittering. He was angry, unspeakably so.
Silently she racked her mind for the reason for his sudden anger, what she could have possibly done to have brought it on, trying to think of the right words to say to make his face soften, to make his fists relax. To make him go away.
But she couldn’t think of the words to say, so she helplessly watched him, her heart beating in her breast like the wings of a trapped sparrow. He didn’t go away. Instead, he took a giant step
Caroline knelt on the floor, looking into a box. Her rear end pointed straight up at him, rounded and perfect. Perfectly shaped, the perfect size for his hands to cover. He closed his hands into fists against the rush of lust that roared through his body. There on her knees… Every sweaty fantasy from the night before flashed before his eyes. Every little whimper, every little moan she’d made in his dreams filled his ears.
He shouldn’t be looking. Shouldn’t be staring. Shouldn’t be fantasizing about her sprawled naked in his bed, looking up at him with blue eyes glazed over with passion, begging… Oh, God. The things she’d begged for in his dreams…
He swallowed hard, trying to hydrate his mouth that was drier than the Mohabi desert. She shifted as she sorted deeper in the box, her shoulders going one way, her round rear the other, straining that sexy black dress across her curves. He swallowed again. A decent man would avert his eyes, he thought. Apparently he wasn’t a decent man. No, not a decent man at all. He was so hard he hurt. Wincing, he took a single step forward, his feet piloted by the brain that now throbbed in his pants.
Her body tensed slightly, her dark head lifting as she sensed his presence.
Caroline was startled out of her woolgathering when she heard the slight sound, a shuffle across the carpet just as the scent of his cologne reached her nose. She looked over her shoulder to see the shiny black surface of Max Hunter’s shoes directly behind her.
She drew a tight breath. He was back. The room felt smaller just knowing he was in it.
„You’re back,“ she said quietly, not looking any higher than his shoes. „Your supplies are here. If you can give me a few minutes I’ll set up your supply drawer.“ Just go away, she thought, anger beginning to simmer inside. Don’t make me see that I’m nothing special.
The shiny shoes didn’t move an inch.
Caroline sighed, letting her shoulders sag. What did it matter anyway? Don’t even think about it, she chided herself. Don’t even think about picket fences and black-haired babies and „honey, I’m home.“ Just…just don’t. Those things weren’t for her. „I made some coffee out by my desk. Help yourself.“
He said nothing, made no attempt to answer. But she could feel him. An energy that sensitized her skin, made the little hairs on her arms stand on end. Using the corners of the box as leverage, she pushed herself to her feet, turning to face him in one movement.
And stopped. Abruptly. He stood close, staring at her, his face hard and dark, a muscle twitching spasmodically in his cheek, one hand fisted at his side. The hand that clutched his cane was fisted so tightly his knuckles were bright white. Her eyes dropped to his hands as they opened, stretched taut for an instant, then pulled back into fists.
He had big hands.
Big fists.
She felt a familiar panic insert itself inside her, deep down where she couldn’t fight it, couldn’t quell it, couldn’t make it go away. She tried to draw air into her lungs, but the air was too thick. Her feet were leaden, the carpet molasses. Even as her mind told her this wasn’t Rob, that this was Max Hunter, her boss, even as she knew she was no longer in North Carolina but in Chicago, safe from Rob’s fists, even as she knew she was no longer timid, frightened, mousy Mary Grace, her feet moved back a step. By sheer force of will, she dragged her eyes from Max’s fists to his face. His eyes were hard, glittering. He was angry, unspeakably so.
Silently she racked her mind for the reason for his sudden anger, what she could have possibly done to have brought it on, trying to think of the right words to say to make his face soften, to make his fists relax. To make him go away.
But she couldn’t think of the words to say, so she helplessly watched him, her heart beating in her breast like the wings of a trapped sparrow. He didn’t go away. Instead, he took a giant step
Similar Books
