Page 29 of Single Mom’s Secret Diary (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)
Avery
W hen I’m shaky from all the orgasms, Wyatt gives me what I can only call a cuddle before he helps me clean up and settles me behind his desk. He braces the arm rests on his chair, barricading me in place. Not that I plan to get away.
My legs are Jell-O, and my insides are warm and gooey for many, many different reasons. The stern lines are gone from Wyatt’s features, making him look younger—more my age. I brush my hand over his cheek and earn myself a smile. Then a small kiss.
What would it be like to have him at home? Away from the office? To see his natural environment?
Wyatt retreats before he returns with a tray of little breakfast quiches and a bowl of fruit and yogurt.
And a cup of coffee, of course. That will help reset my palate.
“Eat. I’ll be back.” Wyatt goes out into the lab to take care of whatever Laurel tried to interrupt us for. She has to know what we were doing. It was so obvious.
The point of hiding me away here—beyond the softness I see in him when he wants to take care of me—is to let my skin cool off and to regain the strength in my legs. Maybe fix my hair. Wyatt doesn’t keep a mirror in his office.
Mostly because he’s not that kind of vain, and his hair is a lost cause to the way he runs his hand through it when he thinks.
Or how mine run through it when we’re touching each other.
Okay, supposed to be settling, not thinking of manhandling Wyatt . Although I do enjoy it a great deal. Almost as much as I enjoy the way he manhandles me.
I run my fingers through my hair before pulling it up into a ponytail to keep from looking any more frazzled.
The quiche is good—creamy, flaky, salty. It has small pieces of shallots and ham. I wonder if he made it himself. But I know better than anyone that some skills don’t transfer between the different kinds of food preparations.
Either way, I like how much he enjoys feeding me. Just like Ryder and Ezra seem to. It’s always good food, too. I have absolutely no complaints.
Wyatt returns as I’m sipping the last of my coffee.
“Did you want another cup?” The casual coldness from the first day I came to work here is gone. At least, when he speaks to me, it is. Poor Laurel is getting the grumpier version of her boss. I heard him snapping at her as she walked him through whatever task she felt was urgent this morning.
Is she regretting that now? Probably not as much as most people would. Some are simply gluttons for punishment.
She stopped a few times to shoot a passing glare at me in his office. Like she’s checking to be sure I’m not rifling through his things.
I shake my head. “No. I’m okay. Do we have a new batch to taste?”
A small smile flashes across his mouth. “We do.”
He unlocks his small fridge where he keeps the chocolates he makes for me to try. How easily he pivoted to protect me makes me warm inside. Wyatt hides so much of himself behind that brisk exterior. That intellect. The disinterest in other people.
But he’s attentive. Sensitive. Focused on what’s important to him.
He sits in the seat opposite me, letting me keep his comfy computer chair. I grin at him and am rewarded with another small smile. His pale eyes are shining, though. He really is beautiful, especially when he’s happy.
That strikes me in the heart, makes it skip a beat. I’m part of what makes him happy.
Can he see the new level of emotions in my eyes? I don’t think he can see it. His focus is on the tray in his hands. Which is good for me. I’m not quite ready to confront what’s going on inside right now.
Setting the tray down, he points to four groups of chocolate pieces. “Control. One-to-two ratio vanilla and oil. One-to-one ratio. Two-to-one ratio.”
We’ve gotten really close, and every tweak seems to get us closer to perfection. This one works with the new oil we’ve tested and the new vanilla paste Wyatt made himself. I got to watch the process, although I’m not allowed to do more than taste when I’m down here.
I take the control piece and taste it. The greasy flavor and the tang of bitterness are still just there. Tasting the next is not better. Even though he emulsified the oil with the cocoa more thoroughly, it’s still greasy. The one-to-one is a little better.
God, we’re so close.
When I bite into the last one, eyes closed as it slowly melts over my tongue, my shoulders relax and fall back. I’m smiling before I meet Wyatt’s intent gaze.
I find no faults with this one, and it must show on my face because Wyatt is standing.
Laughing, I get to my feet, too. “This is the one.”
He pumps his fist before I’m off my feet. Wyatt has me in his arms and is spinning me around. I can’t stop laughing.
Grinning like a fool at him, he matches my smile. The kind of wide, toothy thing I only get to see when he’s on the brink of making me come. Wyatt plants a kiss on my mouth, brief but intense.
Then, he sets me down, hands still on my waist. The wild look he gives me makes me think of someone just registering that they’ve won the lottery. “I have to tell Ezra.”
“Well, go on, then. Tell him.” I cup his cheek before shooing him along.
Hesitating, he nods, a smile flashes across his face again, and he’s marching out of his office. Out of his lab.
I take the second half of the sample and try it again.
It’s so good. No one would ever guess that this is dark chocolate. That it has all of the health benefits. But it tastes like the milkiest, smoothest chocolate bar I’ve ever had. Wyatt did an amazing job.
I make my marks on the papers underneath each chocolate to indicate my notes and initials.
Laurel appears in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a tight blouse that highlights her perfect curves, blonde hair styled perfectly to highlight her bright blue eyes and full cheekbones.
She really is quite pretty, could be a bombshell if not for the constant scowl from my presence.
I’m sure I derailed her monopoly on the hot men here. I mean, fuck, I’m sleeping with three of them regularly. Daily. Right under her nose.
It sucks that it means she has to hate me in her own way. I don’t want to hate her, but I’m reactionary. I can’t stay pleasant when someone is being awful to me. It’s simply not in my DNA.
Just ask my dad.
I smooth down my blouse and wait for her attack. The best offense I can have is to appear unruffled.
“You aren’t supposed to be in here alone.” Her tone is not the mild version she uses when someone is nearby to hear. It drips with disdain and suspicion.
“I’m not. You’re here with me.” I tilt my head and watch her innocently. I know I haven’t stolen any secrets, but if someone said I was, it means that someone has thought about it. I don’t trust Laurel.
The feeling is mutual. She narrows her eyes at me and takes a step forward, blocking the doorway.
“You might have the bosses wrapped around your little finger, but I know better. You’re a snake, waiting for your chance to poison us all.”
Her word choice is convenient. Telling. “Am I? And what do you know about poisoning? I’m the one who went to the hospital from it, after all. And I certainly didn’t poison myself.”
Her scowl deepens. The frustration of not being able to intimidate me is obvious in the reddening of her cheeks. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
I shake my head. There really is no chance that she’ll change her mind about me, no matter what I say or do to prove her opinion of me is wrong.
So, there’s no point in being nice. Or polite. “Think as you will, but I’ve met women like you before. Green is not your color. And it’s not my fault Ryder doesn’t want you anymore. Or Wyatt, for that matter.”
The red in Laurel’s cheeks travels down her neck and to her chest. I meet her blue gaze and don’t waver as we stare at each other.
When it’s obvious she doesn’t have a retort on hand, I gather up the tray Wyatt presented our new test on, the notes I took down, and his notes. Piling them together, I put them in his mini-fridge and lock it with the padlock. Something only he has the key to.
I refuse to leave it out for someone else to find.
Laurel’s eye is twitching as I walk toward her. She doesn’t move until I’m close, nearly running into her as I grab Wyatt’s office door to close behind me.
It locks automatically as it latches, but I check it to confirm.
Then, I leave Laurel to her fuming and plotting and return to my own office to do my job.