Page 28 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

CYNTHIA

I came downstairs to the scent of something delicious cooking and was greeted by the sight of Jason Elliott standing over the counter, in a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, bare feet on the old wood floor.

He had classic rock playing from the speakers and a beer on the table.

The sky outside the kitchen was dark, rain hitting the side of the house in sheets, winds gusting.

As I watched Jason, he sipped and then started whisking some olive oil into a small bowl.

I leaned against the fridge while I watched.

He really was hot, from his tousled blond hair to his forearms flexing while he stirred.

Those forearms that had held me against the counter last night while he branded me with his mouth.

I shifted restlessly, my body remembering how well he’d fit me, how each stroke of his tongue had made my head spin.

Had I been avoiding him today? Yeah, a little.

I felt a little too raw, a little too exposed.

He turned, saw me, and started.

“Hey. You cook?” I was surprised. We’d mostly been eating takeout, and I’d watched him drink a lot of protein shakes.

“I do. When I have the time, or I’m trying to distract myself,” he said sardonically, and turned to check something in the oven. Steam wafted out, and I sighed .

“Well, I’m glad you needed distraction because it smells incredible.”

He gave me a slow smile, and my stomach flipped. “So you’re assuming you can have some, then? I want something in exchange.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re off the clock now, counselor. Stand down.”

“Oh, but this is so much more fun.” His eyes sparked as he took me in, and I shivered. My body clamored for more of what we’d started last night.

“You can collect later. Right now, I need to relax. Any chance you bought more wine?” I asked hopefully.

“What do you take me for, some sort of heathen?” He looked affronted, and I giggled.

“After a certain someone drank my stash, I stocked up.” He gestured to the cabinets.

“But be warned, I bought the most expensive wine they had, and it was fourteen dollars. You finished the stuff I bought near the airport.”

I shook my head as I went to open a bottle. “You’re such a city boy. I don’t think fourteen-dollar wine is going to kill you.” I took a sip and grimaced. “Okay, that’s not great.”

“Goes down easier after the first glass.” He winked and swigged his beer. “Or you could switch to beer.”

I crossed myself. “Not a chance.”

He laughed and opened the oven. He crouched down and pulled out a roasted chicken, glistening with butter and perfectly crispy.

I groaned. “That looks so good. I will do literally anything for a piece.” I hovered over the stove and he swatted at me with a towel.

“Get back, woman. Over there.” He pointed to the dining room table and snapped the towel at me. “Out!”

I laughed and retreated to the table, where I watched him finish cooking. Were we still rivals? The way my stomach dipped when he smiled at me told me maybe not. At least not at home.

He prepared two plates for us, and I covertly ogled his jaw clenched in concentration and the play of muscles under his shirt as he carved the chicken.

“White or dark?” he asked .

“Dark, please.”

He presented our plates with a flourish, and we sat at the table, not unlike how we did every day in the conference room.

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. He didn’t have to help me, didn’t have to be friends with me.

He dipped his head and took a bite. “Not bad.”

I tried the chicken and groaned. “Are you freaking kidding? This is delicious. You’re a genius.”

“See, that’s how I know you can’t cook.” He grinned at me while I eagerly cut into my chicken again.

“Much to my disappointment.”

He shook his head. “Only people who can’t cook get this excited about a simple dinner.”

I made a face at him and drank some of the mediocre wine. “Whatever. Let me be impressed. Where did you learn?”

He shrugged, but his shoulders were tense.

“I taught myself. I needed to. I had no money in college or law school, and cooking was the only way to get by. It was hard at the beginning. I must have made a hundred fancy ramen dinners before I figured out that rice and beans and protein were so much more cost effective and filling.” He shook his head.

“I burned so many pieces of chicken. I once set my fire alarm off trying to roast something while I was in the shower. The fire department came, and I was only in a towel.”

I smirked, and he smiled back. “I would have enjoyed that.” Not least because of the image of him in a towel.

“I bet you would have, you psycho. You like to watch me struggle.”

“That I do,” I said happily. “So you taught yourself how to cook, put yourself through college and law school, and now you’re one of the top mergers and acquisitions lawyers in New York City? Where are your flaws?”

He looked down. “Believe me, I have too many to count.”

Not from where I’m sitting. From here, it looked like he was utterly alone, but still on top of the world. My respect for him grew despite myself.

He chewed in silence and took a sip of his wine before he looked up.

The pain in his eyes nearly knocked the wind out of me.

Suddenly, I realized this was the real him.

The cold man in the conference room was one facet, the teasing playboy was another, but this was a carefully hidden part.

The tortured soul. The one who thought he had more flaws than he could count.

“What happened last night?” I asked. His head jerked back, those lake-blue eyes wide. “I meant, at the bar. Sorry.” I reddened. “It seemed like I said something that upset you. If so, I apologize.”

“Oh, that.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for being a dick to you yesterday.” He said the words simply, and I waited. Brave, beautiful man . “The bar reminded me of some really dark times in my life and I was…very on edge.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Why did you shut down like that?”

“Fair enough. I wasn’t doing it on purpose.

” His jaw worked and his gaze grew distant.

“It’s hard for me to be here, in the country.

I grew up in towns just like this, but my childhood wasn’t pleasant.

I learned to play pool because I had to, slung beers because I needed the money, and taught myself to cook because no one else was there to teach me. ”

I pictured a small boy with big blue eyes and dirty clothes and clenched my hand. It felt like a stack of books had been dropped on my chest, but I didn’t react. He didn’t want my pity.

“I’m trying to be…normal.” He spoke slowly now, appearing to choose his words carefully. “But sometimes I see something or I hear something…and I’m right back to where it all started. Why do you think I live in the city?”

“I get it.” I sipped my wine while I processed. How to show him I didn’t judge him? “Next time just tell me to F off though, or something. I can handle it, Jason. I’m a big girl.” I gave him a meaningful look, and his eyes went wide before he laughed.

“Yeah. I guess you are.”

“I’m not scared of your demons. Besides, I have plenty of my own.”

“Yeah?” He looked eager to stop talking about himself. “Like what? ”

I twirled the wineglass awkwardly in my hands.

“Take your pick. You know about my failed job hunt. You know Brett is making my life hell.” I blew out a breath and avoided his gaze.

“I can’t help thinking I’ve messed it all up.

I feel like a Tasmanian devil sometimes.

Or a rat on a treadmill in some sick experiment.

Just going and going and never getting anywhere.

” I finally met his eyes, and they were warm, sympathetic.

His mouth was soft, kissable. Don’t even think about it.

“I understand.” He considered me. “Do you have a game plan? You can’t keep going like this. Not forever.”

“No. Not even close.” If only. I’d love to see just a glimpse of my future. To know if I should stay at the firm or try to follow my dreams. To know if it were possible to succeed doing something else, or if I’d fail miserably.

“I think what you need is a break.”

“Don’t talk to me about breaks, Mr. four hours of sleep a night,” I grumbled. “You just want me weak and soft for tomorrow.” When we’d be back in that conference room, back to being rivals.

“You’re not weak.”

I looked up at those warm blue eyes, and I wanted to drown in them. To drown in him. To finally stop thinking and doing and planning and just be. And a break sounded really fucking good. But I couldn’t.

“Maybe next weekend,” I said. “I still need to crush you this week.”

He leaned forward and grinned. “Not if I crush you first.”

My breath caught and my heart jack hammered. Like he did last night. When his hand had been hot on my hip and his mouth incendiary. When we’d just barely wrenched ourselves apart.

I want more. I want more of him. That look on his face said he wanted it too. I drained my wineglass and stood on shaky legs. “I’m going to shower.”

I wanted to run from the room, but I forced myself to walk, knowing his eyes were following me the entire way.

I soaped and lathered until my fingers were pruned, and then escaped to my bedroom, where the bed was a cloud of white cotton and an oasis of calm.

A creak sounded from Jason’s side, and I stilled.

I hadn’t gotten used to the intrusiveness of hearing everything from that side of the wall, but we both were clearly trying to ignore it.

There was a soft thump, and I started. It sounded like he was back-to-back with me.

He shifted against the wall. Yep. I swallowed.

What did he think about in bed? Since that night after our kitchen encounter, I hadn’t heard anything private.

I heard a soft groan from his side of the wall.

I take it back. My skin heated. It sounds like he’s having some private time right about now. Should I leave?

No, I decided. This was my house too, and I wasn’t going to be chased out of bed because Jason Elliott was masturbating.

He made another low noise, and I clenched my thighs together.

What was he doing over there? I shut my eyes and pictured that thick cock in his hand, his eyes screwed tight with pleasure.

Or maybe he had just started. Maybe he was fondling himself to full hardness under those tight black briefs I knew he wore.

I slipped a single hand between my legs to where I throbbed and inhaled sharply.

Oh shit. I was wet from my shower and already slippery with wanting him.

I circled my fingers once, twice, little sparks of pleasure already radiating from where my fingers danced over my skin.

The snap of elastic sounded and he made another low noise.

He’s not even trying to hide it. Fuck it.

I wouldn’t either. I moaned a little as I dipped a finger down and dragged some of that slickness back up.

All sound from his side stopped. I let my head thump against the wall as I circled my clit, warmth already kindling in my stomach.

My eyes dropped shut, as if it could help me hear him better.

I was suddenly desperate for any sound from his side, desperate to know that I wasn’t in this alone.

“Fuck, yeah, baby,” he said in a hoarse voice. The slick sound of his hand on his shaft made me arch my back into my fingers. “Oh, fuck,” he said again, this time followed by a gasp I just barely caught.

Oh my god. Was he doing this for me?