Page 17 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

CYNTHIA

T wo glasses of wine and a beer had been a bad idea.

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, wide awake at four a.m. I probably had another hour of this to suffer through before I could go back to sleep.

Ugh. Drinking because Jason made me nervous was dumb.

I’d seen flashes of the man I’d slept with tonight, causing uncertainty and desire to mix in a potent combination, make me restless, hot.

Driving me to drink beer, of all things. Disgusting.

I swung my legs out from under the fluffy comforter and made my way through the moonlit bedroom and down the hall, past where Jason’s door was slightly ajar.

I moved as quietly as I could through the old house, trying to avoid the creaking stairs and using the moonlight to guide me into the kitchen.

There was chamomile tea in the cabinet. Bless whoever bought it.

The full moon illuminated the cornfields outside the window, where the stalks blew gently in the breeze. I shivered.

This was a perfect murder house, and I hated the silence.

I did not do moonlit cornfields, camping, traipsing of any sort, rainstorms, or bugs.

Growing up in the city meant a near pathological fear of sleeping in a giant house alone.

It didn’t help that Jason was one room over.

So no, I wasn’t technically alone, but the walls were so thin that I was constantly on edge in my room.

I could hear every single thing that happened in his bedroom.

I hoped he didn’t need to take any private calls, or worse, have any private time.

I nearly groaned aloud. Steps entered the kitchen, covering the small sound I’d made.

I whirled around, sloshing my tea onto myself and yelping in pain.

“You scared the crap out of me!” I set my mug down and stuck my hand under the faucet.

“Shit. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Jason sounded genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine. I just burned myself a little.” I’d dumped half my tea onto my chest, and I grabbed a towel to soak and press over my breasts where the water had burned me.

“Can I make you some more tea? I need a cup myself.”

“Honestly, after this, I may just do a shot of vodka and hope for the best.”

He chuckled and my stomach tightened. The heat of his body was a physical touch as he rustled behind me, and I turned, still pressing the cool cloth against my chest. Oh no.

I froze at the sight of his back muscles flexing in the soft moonlight as he reached for a mug.

He was naked to the waist. I remembered this sight and I remembered the feel of his hot skin under my hands.

And now he had the audacity to prance around this house with no shirt on, showing off his godlike physique and stupidly beautiful arms? Rude.

I’d been lying in the grocery store. Jason Elliott walking around without a shirt on was devastating.

But if he was going to be casual about our situation, I would too.

I leaned against the counter and crossed my legs in what I hoped was a believably relaxed pose.

My arms felt awkward, heavy. I settled for clutching my remaining tea like it was a lifeline.

My hand throbbed and my legs prickled where they were exposed to the air under my indecently short sleep T-shirt.

The same one I’d worn yesterday when I’d taunted him in the kitchen.

Then, I’d felt powerful, at ease. Now? Now I felt exposed, all too aware of him.

It’s the night air and the soft darkness.

It made me want to linger, to trail my eyes over those lovely arms, those bare feet.

I cleared my throat. “Why are you up, anyway? ”

He gave me a half smile. “Couldn’t sleep.

I’m not a big sleeper. I have bad dreams. And there always seems to be something to do that’s more important than sleeping.

I can get by on four or five hours a night.

” He shrugged. “I probably should have put that on my resume when I applied to the firm. They would have hired me in a heartbeat.” He gave me an appraising look, eyes snagging on my legs and a strange expression crossing his face when he finally met my eyes. “What about you? Work keeping you up?”

“Uh, no.” It’s you. Your hot eyes and your insufferable attitude and the way you throw me off balance.

“I had a little too much wine, and I guess I’m old now.

You know when you’ve had just enough to drink so that you’re not hungover, but you've still had too much to sleep? Well, I’m in that fun hour of being wide awake.

” I made a face. “I’ll probably be deep in REM when my alarm goes off, so look forward to me being a raging bitch tomorrow. ”

He snorted out a laugh and started coughing on his tea. “And here I was going to say you are extremely pleasant even on the worst of days.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jason Elliott. No one has ever dared to call me nice or pleasant.”

“Me neither. And I don’t give a fuck.” His white teeth flashed in the darkness.

“Yeah, I guess not.” We’re the same, you and I.

“Does it ever bother you?” he asked, head tilted. “I mean, don’t you ever get told to be softer?”

I snorted. “All the damn time. If I had a dollar for every time opposing counsel clearly wanted to tell me to pipe down, I’d have quit the firm by now.”

“Not me, though, I hope.” His voice was quiet, and his eyes looked soft? Must be a trick of the moonlight .

“No. Not you,” I scoffed. “In fact, you might be number one on the list of going toe-to-toe with me.” I guess that’s respect. My heart lurched before settling into an unsteady rhythm.

“It’s because I’m scared of you,” he said, his voice full of laughter.

“Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not scared of anything.” And it was pretty fucking hot. The way he cut through everything, cool, confident. If only I could be like that.

“Oh, I totally am.” He leaned back against the counter.

“Let’s hear it then.” I mirrored his pose.

“Why would I tell you my weaknesses?” He grinned at me.

“Good point,” I admitted. “I’ll have to guess, then.” I tapped my finger against the warm mug. “Let’s see…shirts. You’re scared of shirts. Based off how little you seem to wear them.” And I’m terrified of how much I like it.

He barked out a short laugh, like I’d surprised him. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, and warm pleasure spread through me.

“Definitely not scared of shirts.” He paused. “Though it seems you are deathly allergic to wearing pants at home.”

I grinned into my mug. I was getting to him. I knew it.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re scared of a little thigh.” I raised a brow. Fire. You’re playing with fire. And yet, I couldn’t stop. This moment, wrapped in moonlight, it didn’t feel real. Could there really be consequences tomorrow? I shifted and let the hem of my shirt hitch up over my legs.

His hard swallow was audible in the silent kitchen.

“Stop,” he rasped.

“Why?” I raised a brow at him in challenge before dropping the cloth I was using to soothe my burned skin onto the counter.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. I just barely heard the soft curse and his sharp inhalation as his eyes caught on my breasts.

Oh no. My shirt was damp and my nipples were hard.

I froze. Say something, idiot. Make a joke.

Don’t just stand there while he devours you with his gaze.

I looked up and met his eyes. They were electric in the moonlight, his lips slightly parted, his breaths hitching.

I couldn’t look away. Where is my bravery from this morning?

From two minutes ago? I wanted to draw myself up, say something flirty.

Instead, I melted under the heat of his gaze.

“You need to go,” he gritted out. I didn’t move. I stood there with the hem of my short shirt fluttering around my legs while I watched him advance on me. His abs flexed as he walked, and I nearly sighed. So, so beautiful, so not for you.

“Cynthia.” He held himself stock still, just a foot away from me, his entire body tense with strain. “You need to go back upstairs,” he repeated in a low voice.

I desperately wanted him to come closer, wanted to touch him.

I ached to run my fingers along the vee of muscle just over his waistband.

Bad idea. I listened to my brain and not my traitorous body and scurried from the room.

But not before I heard the slap of his hand against the counter and the sound of his groan.

I shut the door to my room and lay against it, breaths coming short and fast. My eyes dropped shut and behind my lids played a film made up of his soft breaths and the slide of his muscles as he had stalked toward me.

My swirling thoughts shorted out when I heard his steps come up the stairs and the door to his room creak open.

I could tell he was trying to be quiet, but this house was way too old for that.

He ran into something and let out a muffled “fuck.” I bit my hand to keep from laughing.

I abruptly stopped when I heard the sound of his groan.

Was he touching himself? Before I could question my decision, I pressed my ear to the wall.

Thump . I started. Oh no. He was against the wall.

I screwed my eyes shut. Was he bracing himself against the surface just inches from my head while he stroked?

The image played in my head. Silky skin, that jutting cock, his arm braced to support himself.

He made a low noise and I clenched my thighs together.

The rhythmic sound of flesh sliding over flesh came from the other side.

“Fuck.” He said it in a completely different tone, hissing the word before he let out a low moan. I jumped away from the wall.

This is so inappropriate. My face was red and my heart was pounding. This is also so hot. Somehow, I needed to go to sleep and forget this ever happened. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and picturing my opposing counsel naked was not going to make it better.