Page 46 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

CYNTHIA

S omething possessed me to try to look nice for our dinner. Maybe it was the kiss. That insane, all-consuming, heart-in-his-eyes kiss. Or maybe the way he murmured words against my skin after holding me like I was precious. Or the way he’d planned a whole day of activities just for me.

My closet consisted mostly of suits for this trip, but I dug up a bright blue wrap dress and pulled it on.

I shook my hair around my shoulders and applied a light dusting of highlighter on my cheekbones.

I left my feet bare, since we were at home, and made my way into the kitchen.

Jason was already there, in a crisp white button down, the sleeves rolled over his defined forearms. He was staring into the depths of the fridge with a frown on his face.

I let my eyes trail over his lean form, that lovely tousled weekend hair, down his strong back, to that ass that had flexed with each thrust, those long legs.

He really was the hottest man I’d ever seen.

“I have on good authority that if you close and open it again, the contents will change,” I said, and he started.

The flash of need on his face made me inhale sharply.

“You look really nice,” he said, voice rough. “Now I need to make something worthy of your outfit.” He actually sounded worried, and my heart squeezed.

“I’m easy, Jason. Don’t worry. I can be low key.” I sat down at the counter and poured myself a glass of the wine he had opened.

He snorted a laugh. “You are not low key. You know what you want and you go for it.” He sounded admiring, not critical.

I made a sound of agreement, watching him grab ingredients with the confidence of a seasoned chef.

Each flex of those arms, each considering tilt of his head, made me sigh.

I sipped the crisp white he had purchased at the market and let myself imagine briefly that we were together, and this was just another Sunday night.

A date night at home, with his wife, whose favorite foods he knew how to cook by heart.

He would have selected the produce at the Union Square Farmers’ Market, turning each onion over in those capable hands, selecting the wine with equal care, knowing exactly what she’d want.

My heart ached. He’d be so fucking good at that.

So good as someone’s husband. He was utterly competent and a good listener.

He tucked information away to use later.

And he, like me, seemed to enjoy a quiet routine.

Is that what you want? I’d never let myself consider it before.

A brief sigh escaped, and he tilted his head toward me. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, as he sharpened the lone chef’s knife.

“Just thinking about you.” I smiled. “And how you always stock enough food to feed an army.” And how I’m falling for you.

“And how fucked up I am?” He scoffed and set the knife down.

No. I would not stand for this. I circled the counter and grabbed his hand.

Warm, rough skin slid against my own. “Don’t say that,” I said fiercely.

“You’re not fucked up. You’re amazing. You’ve done the impossible and you make it look easy.

” His throat worked, and he looked away.

“Don’t you look away from me, Jason Elliott.

” My voice rose. “I will support you, whether you like it or not. And I won’t hear any more of that nonsense.

Now show me how to cook whatever the hell this is.

” I dropped his hand and gestured at the vegetables he’d bought .

He grinned. “Well, since you put it so politely…grab a knife. And no talking back.”

Warmth kindled inside me. He believed me. And I felt like I could fly.

“And, Cynthia?” He squeezed my hand again. “Thank you.”

We dug into our winter vegetable pasta not thirty minutes later, and I closed my eyes in pleasure.

“I’m going to take that face to mean you like it,” he teased. He was watching me eat and his eyes on me felt like a physical caress.

“I love it. You’re a really good cook.” I sighed with happiness and took another bite. “Should we talk about tomorrow?”

He grimaced. “I like pretending that this isn’t about to blow up in our faces. Can I have one more night?”

I liked it too. I liked playing house with him and spending weekends with him, and that was all going to end. Right before my career blew up.

I sighed. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Whatever this is.” I blushed a little. “I like spending time with you.”

“The color of your face indicates that you are not pleased about admitting that,” he teased. Those blue eyes danced with glee, but a soft smile played on his lips. “But yeah, it’s been nice. Especially with everything else going to hell around us.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he continued, “but if you ever settled down, what would that look like?” His question was casual, but I tensed.

It would probably look a hell of a lot like this. And for some reason, I couldn’t picture another man in Jason’s seat. When I imagined coming home from a long day of work, I imagined him opening the door. I swallowed.

“Honestly, I hadn’t given much thought to it.” That was true, at least. “I never let myself want something I can’t have. ”

“Can’t have?” He sat back and sipped his wine. “Why do you say that?”

I don’t see you offering. My throat tightened.

“There have always been too many obstacles. It’s so easy to get ‘mommy-tracked’ at the firm.

As soon as you get married, they start gossiping about how you’ll be pregnant and not able to work those sixteen-hour days anymore.

And it’s hard to find someone who understands this life.

” I shrugged, even though all I felt was an ache in my chest. “It just seemed silly to dream about something that probably won’t happen for me. ”

I looked up and met those blue, blue eyes. They were soft, shadowed, his soft mouth pressed in a line. “But if you could have it? Would you want it?” His question was low, urgent.

I inhaled deeply for courage. “Yes, yes, I would.”

He nodded thoughtfully and let the subject drop. Thank fuck. We chewed in silence for a minute until I cleared my throat.

“I know you want one more night of normalcy, but I just think we need to do a little more digging before we go to the partners. Let’s see what else we can find tomorrow at the office and then take it from there?” The thought of going to Gerald with this was horrifying.

“I’m tempted to rip this off like a Band-Aid tomorrow morning, but I know that anything less than definitive proof is going to make our partners even madder.” He speared a hand through his hair. “The whole thing makes me feel a little ill.”

I winced. “This is going to be unpleasant either way we slice it. I’d rather look thoughtful instead of paranoid. And in any case, we might not find anything.” I shrugged.

“You’re being awfully nonchalant. I know how worried you are,” Jason said quietly.

I looked up to see him regarding me steadily, swirling his wine. “I’m trying not to think about getting fired. I’m not sure if it’s working.” I took a hearty swallow of wine. “Gerald is not known for being reasonable. There’s a fair chance he fires me on the spot.” My stomach knotted.

“What’s the worst that could happen? ”

“Not helpful, Jason. This is pretty much it.”

“I’m serious. This is a real technique. I learned it in therapy. I told you I was fucked up.” He winked, and I sighed.

I held his gaze as anxiety tightened my throat. The blue of his eyes anchored me, like staring out at the ocean. I took a deep breath. “Okay, well, worst case is I get fired tomorrow and I don’t have another job.”

He gave a short nod. “But you have savings. And you’ll get another job quickly. Hell, I’d recommend you in a heartbeat to come to my firm.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I smiled at him, grateful for his quiet support.

“And then what? You help your family, right? What happens to them?” He didn’t let up. This was the hard part.

I bit my lip as I considered. His thick lashes swept down and up again.

“Realistically, they’ll be fine.” It was the truth.

“Devon will get by. My parents can figure out what to do with my father’s slipped disk.

I have the money to help them now if they need it, anyway.

I don’t need a job for that. And…I shoulder a lot of things because I can, not because I have to .

” I took another deep breath. Saying those words felt good. Jason’s lips tilted up on one side.

“What if you were a little more selfish?” His eyes were warm, and I leaned in toward him. They were melting me, softening me around the edges, drawing me to him.

“You mean like I am here?” With him. When he demanded that I take things for myself, when he forced me to accept his support. Just how I forced him to accept mine.

“Yes. Exactly like that,” he said vehemently.

“I’m not really like that. I mean, I am in small ways. I buy the shoes I want, I take the vacations I like. I know how to do self-care. But big picture?” I shrugged helplessly. Why didn’t I do more for myself? Why couldn’t I take a job I really loved?

“Big picture is what matters most.” His eyes were hot on mine, and he sounded almost angry for me. “Think about it. For me.”

“Okay.” I smiled at him. “For you.”

“Truth or dare?” Jason asked.

We were on the couch, each of us unwilling to let this night end.

Jason faced me, toying with one lock of my hair.

It had been a night of small touches, a hand on my back here, his lips on my neck there, and I loved it.

I’d told myself to enjoy it and forget about tomorrow.

For just one night, I was happy to pretend he was mine.

“Truth,” I said.

He sank his teeth into his full lower lip. “Would you let me restrain you?”

Heat flashed through me. “You mean…”

“Yes,” he bit out. He leaned forward. “In bed. Would you let me tie you up? Handcuff you?”

I want that. But I wanted it on equal terms. “Would you let me do the same?” I countered.

His eyes dropped closed, and he swallowed. “Fuck. Yes, I would. Of course.” He raised his gaze to mine, jaw clenched. “You know that’s my thing.”

“Then yes. I want it,” I said, slightly breathless.

His lids dropped closed for a moment. Something like want, or longing, flickered across his face.

“Choose dare.” His voice was low, rough.

“You don’t get two in a row,” I protested.

“I don’t care.” He surged over me, pinning me to the couch. “Can I have anything I want?” His eyes searched mine, waiting for permission, always.

“Yes, anything.”

He smiled. “I want to show you how to sub.”

I blew out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“It’s not part of the dare. I want you to see how it works.” He traced over my arm with his finger, his face uncertain. “But you need a safe word. Because what you did to me was just a start. Like dipping your toe in the shallow end. But what I’ll do to you is so much more.”

Already I could feel my pulse between my legs, heavy with desire. “ Yes.” My voice was breathy, high. “Um, for a safe word, I’ll pick crossword.”

He smiled. “Good choice.” His smiled dropped and his face hardened. His lake-blue eyes were bright above stark cheekbones. “Go upstairs. To my room, not yours. Take off your clothes and kneel on the floor. Don’t use a cushion. I want you to feel the carpet on your knees.”

Already his words were turning me on. Could I do this?

“Okay,” I whispered.