He Touches Me by Cynthia Sax

recirculated air.
    Fran waits for me as I exit the elevator. Her smile fades. “Oh Anna.” She wraps her arms around me. I don’t hug her back, my body stiff, my arms at my side. “He’ll be back.”
    â€œI came here.” I take a ragged breath, unshed tears stinging my eyes. “I didn’t know if Mr. Blaine wanted me to return but you paid me for the full week and . . .” I shrug, unable to say any more, emotion choking my throat.
    â€œYou are my assistant, not Mr. Blaine’s.” Fran’s face hardens. “And I paid you for the day, not the week. Come. We have work to do.” She walks briskly to my desk and I follow her. The boxes I’ve sorted have been removed, more boxes taking their place.
    There will always be another box to sort. I hear Blaine’s voice in my mind. The door to his office is closed, access to his domain barred to me. Unable to think about him, the pain too acute, I focus on my job, sorting the files.
    I work as quickly as I can. My shoulders ache. Sweat trickles down my spine. My world narrows to the manila folders, the boxes around me serving as protective walls. In this space I can’t be harmed, but I’m also alone, so very alone.
    I hear Fran’s voice. I put three more files in order before asking her to repeat her question. She doesn’t respond. I look up. She isn’t at her desk and her computer screens are black.
    A white roll filled with chicken, lettuce, and tomato is set on a china plate on the corner of my desk. Although my stomach rumbles, the food doesn’t appeal to me. I take a swig from the bottle of water she’s left me, the liquid soothing my dry lips and my parched throat. It does nothing for my heartache.
    Does Blaine think about me? I return to my task, trying to crowd out thoughts of him. It doesn’t work. I smell sandalwood and musk, his scent. I hear the rumble of his voice. I remember the feel of his rough callused hands on my back, my breasts, between my thighs.
    â€œBlaine.” I sigh.
    â€œAnna.”
    I lift my head. Blaine leans against his office door, watching me. He’s immaculately dressed in his black suit, white shirt, gray tie, but his black hair is mussed, the wayward lock freed, falling over his forehead. His eyes are a bright brilliant green, glittering like jewels in his tanned face.
    â€œYou left me.” Accusation edges my words.
    â€œI tried to leave.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, freeing more strands. “I lost control with you, Anna. I could have hurt you.”
    â€œYou did hurt me. You walked away from me.” I hug my body, protecting myself from the pain. “Like my mother did,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to the open boxes.
    â€œNo!” Blaine grips my shoulders and turns me toward him. “I’m not your mother, nymph. I was coming back to you.” He draws me close to his body, his strength, scent, heat grounding me, reassuring me he’s here, he’s truly with me. “I needed space, to think, to come up with a solution. I don’t think well when I’m near you.” He nuzzles his chin into my hair. “But I’ll always return to you.”
    He’ll always return to me. I shake, crying silent tears, and Blaine holds me, loosening the elastic band in my hair, petting the frizzy strands, soothing me, reassuring me. He’s here. He had planned to return. He hadn’t abandoned me.
    â€œI’m sorry.” My voice is muffled against his chest.
    â€œFor what?” Blaine leans back and rubs the moisture from my cheeks. I must look like a mess, I’ve never been a pretty crier, yet he looks at me as though I’m the most beautiful creature on earth.
    â€œI shouldn’t have doubted you.” I gaze up at him, feeling foolish for having created drama over nothing. He came back to me. He merely needed space. I flatten my palms over the lapels of his black jacket,