Page 58 of By A Thread

Today, she was wearing a pair of high-wasted designer pants in fire engine red and some kind of black lacy blouse that looked Victorian except for the fact that I could see her bra straps. It was a conservative outfit compared to what usually strutted the halls ofLabel. But it was still enough to have me imagining everything else underneath it.

She’d added bracelets in turquoise and silver to one wrist and classic hoop earrings.

It bothered me that I felt compelled to take an inventory of every item she wore.

I felt compelled to do a lot of things where Ally was concerned.

Avoid her.

Ignore her.

Make up reasons to talk to her.

Pick a fight with her.

Touch her.

I’d been close enough to touch her Monday when I’d found her at her desk after work. It was much harder than it should have been to not reach out and trace a finger over her lower lip, over the strip of skin just below the hem of her tank.

It made no sense. I felt out of control around her. A feeling I loathed.

Every time I talked to her, passed her in the hall, sat across the table from her in a meeting, I wantedmore.

I wanted more to blame her. But part of me was starting to wonder if this was in my blood. If my father had been a normal man until one day he’d snapped.

“Dog walkers?” Greta repeated. This was the third time I’d wandered out to her desk rather than calling, emailing, or just yelling through the open door like I usually did. Before the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about had moved upstairs.

My admin not-so-subtly swiveled in her chair to see exactly what I was staring at. She spun back around and arched an eyebrow. I knew I wasn’t fooling her.

I wasn’t even fooling myself.

“Dog walkers. The sooner, the better,” I told her briskly.

“I’ll take care of it after lunch,” she assured me. “Is there anything else you want?” She tilted her blonde head not so subtly in Ally’s direction.

Greta had managed my calendar for years. She knew the type of women I usually dated. I’d grown up around models and photographers and designers. It had been only natural to spend more… intimate time with the like.

But I’d taken a sabbatical from women since taking this job.

No dating.

No sex.

I’d needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t anything like him. And yet here I was, lusting after a woman I didn’t even like. Maybe it wasn’t Ally that was getting under my skin. Maybe it was just a biological need to fuck.

That thought brightened my mood. I’d gone a year without sex. A year without feeling a woman under me. A year without touching soft, lovely skin.

It was too fucking long.

I wasn’t a monk. Just a man intent on not committing his father’s sins.

“Just the recommendations,” I told her, pointedly ignoring the way Ally’s shoulders slid side to side as she danced to music in her headphones. I wondered what was playing in those ears right now. “Thanks.”

I returned to the refuge of my office. I hadn’t bothered redecorating when I’d taken over the position. It hadn’t been a priority. I’d come in on a Sunday and taken every framed photo, every memento, every shiny award, and thrown them all in the trash. The next morning, my new desk and chair—furniture that my father hadn’t touched—had been delivered.

It hadn’t been a fresh start so much as a hostile takeover.

I sat down behind my desk and pulled up the page layouts I was supposed to be approving. But Ally popped into my mind again.