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“Give it to me,” she says.
The blood in my veins thrums.
Baby, I can give it to you all night long…
She holds out her hand. “The contract.”
I’m barely able to keep my thoughts in a straight line and I’m sure she knows it.
“Here.” I offer her the file and my gaze falls on the long, ugly scrape down the back of her hand.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I’ve always had a scar there.” She flips the document open.
I grab her hand, my fingers tightening around her slender arm.
Bull.
I took Clarissa to my favorite food truck knowing she’d appreciate it. What I didn’t expect were her blissful moans while enjoying the meal.
It took everything in me not to drag her back to my car, order my driver out, and throw her in the backseat.
My eyes shift to the deep scrape again.
I watched every delectable flick of Clarissa’s tongue against her skin as she sopped up the taco juices. There was no mark on her wrist.
Or I sure as hell would have noticed.
“What happened?”
She blinks like an angry cat, stiffening at my tone. “I fell.”
“You fell?” My voice is tight.
“Yes.” Her fingers drum against her knee.
“Doing what?” I’m barely controlling myself. Barely staying sane.
“Working.” The tapping gets faster, more frantic.
I’m quiet. Still.
She notices. Turning away, Clarissa walks to the kitchen. “It’s only a couple weeks before the grand opening. We’re running around doing everything ourselves.” Her voice trembles when she adds, “I made a stupid mistake using a makeshift desk as a ladder. Really boring story. How’s Joel?”
“At home with his personal nurse.”
“He has a personal nurse. She pretty?”
“He’s a guy.”
“The question stands.”
I hear water gurgling from a mug. She sets it on the counter.