Page 33 of Forty, Flirty & Framed

"But we're so close."Her eyelids are visibly heavy now, but she stubbornly returns to her laptop.

I should insist we both leave.I should call her a car.

I should keep in place the professional boundaries that have defined my career.

Instead, I find myself saying, "One more hour, then we call it."

She nods and refocuses on her screen.

I do the same, but my concentration is fractured now, awareness of her presence competing with the code before me.

Fifteen minutes later, I glance up to ask a question—and freeze.

Karina's slumped forward, cheek pillowed on her folded arms, fast asleep.

For a moment, I can't do anything but stare.

The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the way a stray curl has fallen across her cheek—it undoes something in me.

A thread pulling loose.A wall quietly caving.

Her mouth is parted slightly, lush and unguarded, and an ache sparks low in my chest, visceral and unwelcome.

She looks so different like this.Not the sharp, brilliant strategist who can dismantle a crisis with a tilt of her chin and a cutting remark—but softer, almost...touchable.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly, fighting the reckless urge to brush that curl from her face.To trace the curve of her jaw, memorize the quiet vulnerability she would never willingly show me.

Or anyone else.

It’s dangerous, the way she affects me.Unbalancing.

I should wake her.I should definitely, absolutely wake her.

Instead, my gaze lingers.Cataloging details I have no business noticing…

The delicate line of her throat.The faint shadow of lashes against her skin.

The way exhaustion has left her defenses scattered across the conference table like forgotten armor.

A different life flashes, unbidden, through my mind.

One where it wouldn’t be reckless to reach for her.To gather her close and promise—quietly, fiercely—that she could rest and someone else would shoulder the weight for a while.

But that’s not this life.

Not this night.

The tightness in my chest sharpens, an ache I can't justify and don't fully understand.

I shove my chair back with more force than necessary, the scrape of it loud enough to jolt her awake.

Her head lifts with a soft, disoriented noise."Did I?—?"

"Fall asleep?"I manage, my voice rougher than I'd like."Yeah.Can't blame you."

She straightens, rubbing a hand over her face, and something about the simple, unguarded motion punches the air clean out of my lungs.

"God, I'm sorry," she mumbles."That's not exactly...marketing exec behavior."