Page 40 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

JASON

M y head dropped into my hands. My heart thudded. Was I really about to tell her this?

“Because I do,” I said quietly.

“Damn,” she whispered back.

The moment stretched. To tell her or not to tell her? The air felt too thin, the walls too close. If I were alone, I would go for a run.

“Can we walk?” I shoved back from the table.

“Sure, of course.” She sounded surprised.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and a blanket from the porch, and we picked our way down the dark stairs and into the velvet night. It was a little chilly, but clear. The stars were scattered across a sky that seemed to touch the endless cornfields around us.

I took a deep lungful of air, catching hints of Cynthia’s warm scent beside me. Her face was tipped up to the sky, and I glanced over at her. “Not so bad, is it?”

“It’s fine. If we hear even one rustle in the corn, though, I’m going to lose it.”

I snorted a laugh, and we started walking in the dark, down the long drive that continued past the house.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she murmured.

“I’m really good at keeping secrets though, if you do decide to.

” Of course she was. She was loyal to a fault, and she would view secret-keeping as a sacred duty.

What would it be like to have that loyalty for my own?

A tidal wave of want threatened to pull me under, and I sucked in a breath.

“My last foster family were drug dealers.” Hot shame burned in my gut at the memories, but even admitting the words to her felt cooling, like pressure being let out of an over-inflated balloon.

She scooted closer to me until her shoulder brushed my arm.

“They made street drugs in the basement of our house. I had no idea for at least a year, but then things started to go south. My foster brother was using, and he couldn’t hide it anymore.

I discovered the basement lab by mistake one day when he forgot to lock the door.

He was twenty, and I was only eighteen. He beat the shit out of me.

I had two black eyes and a broken arm. I’d show you the scar if it weren’t so dark out.

” I swallowed thickly. The scar still bothered me at night sometimes.

“The police found me unconscious. Everyone around town knew me as a good, if troubled, kid. They rightly assumed something was up at home, and the whole, horrible story came out. My foster parents were arrested, and I left town before they realized I was the one who ratted them out.” I shuddered at the memory of all those nights alone in shitty motels, wondering if they were going to burst through the door.

Cynthia ran a soothing hand down my arm. Somehow, she knew I needed to be anchored when the dark memories threatened to drown me.

“What did you do?” she asked quietly. We were well past the house now, the stalks of corn shushing gently around us in the night breeze.

I spread the blanket on the grass and pulled her down next to me.

We sat there, shoulder against shoulder, her steady breaths and the clear night air making it easier to speak.

“This was just months before I left for college. The timing was as good as it could be, I guess. I changed my last name and just tried to survive until I moved into the dorms. I worked whatever jobs I could find—fast food during the day, bartending at night. I’ve never been more tired in my life than I was then.

” Those days had been utterly exhausting, but in some ways, peaceful.

I’d been so drained at night that I hadn’t had time to worry about my past or my future.

I had put one foot in front of the other until I left for college.

I was silent, waiting for her judgment with each erratic rush of blood in my ears. People in our world, the world of the mega-wealthy, they didn’t have pasts like mine. It was shameful, and I was an impostor.

“So, what you’re saying is, being a big firm lawyer is actually the easiest thing you’ve ever done?”

I barked a laugh and turned to look at Cynthia. She smiled at me and slipped her hand into mine, squeezing lightly. My chest ached. She took all my darkness and wrapped it up in her light, in her humor, until it became easier to bear.

“Well, it certainly beats sleeping in a pay-by-the-hour motel. And that was on a good night.”

“You are impressive as hell, Jason Elliott.” The approval in her voice made my body come alive. The almost reverent way she said my name threatened to undo me. I gulped my beer and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

A noise in the corn broke the moment, and she shrieked and plastered herself to me.

I laughed as she muttered that the town of Booth could go to hell.

When she didn’t draw back, I ran a hand down her back, soothing her.

Warm, willing woman slid against me, and I buried my nose in her neck.

I couldn’t help it. She was so soft, right at that junction where her neck met her shoulder.

The perfect place to bite, then soothe with my tongue.

She shivered, and I jerked back. Her eyes were hazy in the darkness.

If I kiss her, she’ll let me. She’ll love it.

Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, and my groin pulled tight.

The moment stretched, every heartbeat seeming to push us together. Damn, how I want her. For more than just one night or two. If I kissed her now, there was no going back. Was I brave enough for that? Did she want it? Was it worth it? Indecision was a vise around my chest .

Her eyes shuttered a little at my hesitation, and she looked down. It’s for the best.

“Let’s head back,” I said. My voice was raspy, the damnable lust I felt for her overriding everything—my good sense, my ability to speak full sentences. She stepped away, almost reluctantly, and the ache in my chest was back.