Page 68 of Kiss and Tell

I wasn’t going to risk my reputation because of some guy. I wasn’t going to risk my career just because the sex was great. I wasn’t going to let my libido override my self-preservation.

But it’s not just about sex, is it?my heart spoke up.Youlikehim.

I snuck a glance up at Connor. He was playing with his lemon wedge, peeling the flesh and tearing off chunks to throw into his water glass. He licked the sticky lemon juice off his thumb absentmindedly, then puckered up, his face scrunching as the tart flavor hit his tongue.

I liked Connor. I wanted to be with him.

But did he want to be with me?

He’d certainly expected me to invite him in to stay the night at my place after we got home from the business trip. But what exactly had he been expecting? Was this whole thing just physical for him? Or did he feel something more?

Connor caught me watching him and smoothed his expression.

“Are you going to use that lemon wedge?” he asked.

I plucked the wedge from the rim of my glass and handed it over.

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to play with your food?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he replied. “They always encouraged my creativity and out-of-the-box thinking.”

The waitress returned with our pizzas and we went silent as we ate. Connor kept on shooting me looks, but my pale face must have improved because he no longer looked so worried.

If this whole thing was just sex for Connor, there was no way I would risk it.

But he said he felt something more.

Did he feel the same way I did?

Could I really give up someone I’d begun to care so much for, just because of my job?

Yes, my brain shot back.

Not a chance,my heart cut in.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, balling up a napkin in my fist.

“What was that?” Connor asked as my cursing took his attention away from the lemon wedge he was mutilating. His plate was empty, having finished his food ages ago.

“Connor…” My lungs squeezed in my chest. It was hard to get air.

He dropped the wedge into his glass and wiped off his fingers with a napkin as he gave me a concerned look.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Can you answer me something?”

He cocked his head at me. “Sure.”

“If you had never hired me,” I started, “and if I had called you after that night we first met at the bar, would we still be sitting here having pizza together?”

“I have no idea.” He looked puzzled. “Why does it matter?”

“When you gave me your number, what were you expecting?” I asked, trying to approach it another way.

“I figured you might give me a call and we could arrange to meet up at a bar some other night,” he said.

“And what would happen after we met up at another bar?”