Page 24

“You’re in early today.”

I bite my cheek to suppress a smile wanting to form on my face when I see her hunched over her tablet, the lone lamp illuminating the bullpen as dawn is on the verge of breaking through the inky darkness of the night.

I wonder what romance novel she’s reading this morning.

My heart is scrimmaging, my hand finding comfort in the hot drink I’m clutching in my grip.

Grace swivels her chair and faces me, her eyes widening in over-the-top shock and her cheeks twitching in suppressed humor as well. “Mr. Kingsley! Fancy seeing you in so early.”

We have done this strange dance every morning the last few weeks without fail, me coming in at six-thirty on the dot, her acting like she hasn’t seen me in the office so early before.

Suddenly, waking up in the middle of the night to a dark room doesn’t bother me as much anymore.

The stillness doesn’t seem as suffocating, the heaviness in my chest seems more bearable, like I have the strength to push it away and focus on something else.

Or someone else.

When I saw her on the High Line twirling about with a smile on her face, her beautiful hair fluttering around her, my breath caught in my throat and my heart seized.

She looked ethereal, something out of the fairytales I read to little Violet whenever I’d visit Jess and James.

The moonlight bathed her in a soft glow, imbuing her with… magic.

It’s fucking stupid. Completely unrealistic .

Yet, I find myself ensnared by her aura.

When I stepped out of The Shed, I wanted to reply to a few emails regarding TransAmerica that came through during yet another boring speech by some donor of the year.

But as soon as I saw her dancing to her own melody with the stars as her company, all my thoughts of work flew out the door.

A heady rush of warmth coated my insides and the only thing in my mind was the need to talk to her, to see what had her so mesmerized.

So, for the second time in my life, after the karaoke incident, I shed my heavy cloak of responsibilities, my mind barely registering the buzzing of my phone from more emails and text messages, my brain forgetting the American Lymphoma Research Society gala wasn’t finished yet, and I was supposed to make a speech on Adrian’s behalf.

When it finally occurred to me late last night on the drive home, I hastily dictated apology notes to the organizer of the event and to Adrian, who’d no doubt barrage me with questions later.

A sharp pinch of guilt pierced my gut when I realized everything I dropped because of this insane impulse to spend time with her. Father’s warnings in the past echoed in my mind. Kingsley men don’t let emotions get the best out of them. I shoved the thoughts into a black box deep inside me.

I was selfish for once, and I felt alive.

Strolling with her in the darkened pathways, surrounded by carefully manicured gardens and cloaked in silence, I’d never felt more at peace.

When she stared at me with those dazzling violet eyes and we talked about the loneliness of being at the top, I didn’t find myself flinching or wanting to run away from her penetrating gaze.

She saw me.

She saw through my words and everything I didn’t say.

It wasn’t my wealth or fancy title she noticed, but the deep murky hole inside me, yearning for something to fill it.

When she gripped my arm and demanded I make a wish upon a shooting star, the abyss in my chest flooded with bright light, and in that moment, that brief second, I’d remember always, my world shifted on its axis .

I wanted to kiss her.

It wasn’t a fleeting impulse or desire.

It was a desperate need, a sharp craving.

I don’t kiss women. I don’t want the intimacy with any of them. But with her, I found myself hungry for it, the sudden urge flooring me. Even if she’d later curl her lips at the ugliness in my soul, I still wanted to lie bare at her feet.

I wanted desperately to taste those luscious, plump lips, to embed a part of her inside me and to leave a part of me inside her.

It took everything in me to stand still, to not act on this insane desire.

“Steven?”

Glancing up, I catch those inquisitive eyes on me once more.

I smile and pull a chair up from the side of the cubicle.

Yet another unofficial routine neither of us would admit to.

Instead of retreating to my office to begin my workday, I sit with her in her little glass cubicle, surrounded by the peacefulness of the early morning hours, with only the warm glow of her desk lamp illuminating the space.

Wordlessly, like the other days, she takes out her toasted bagel slathered with peanut butter from a Ziploc bag and gives me half.

I place the hot coffee I “happened” to have, the drink with brown sugar and oat milk, what she once told me she enjoys on another early morning, and we’d sit down and have breakfast together.

It feels intimate. Better than any dates I’ve been on in the past.

Energy sizzles between us, every cell in my body feeling alive, and I tether down the impulse to touch her, to smell her jasmine scent at the source.

Every day without fail. With both of us acting like each morning was an act of serendipity.

Steven and Grace, two “friends” sharing a meal in the dark.

But friends don’t dream about the taste of the other person’s lips.

Friends don’t jerk off in the morning shower, imagining her in there trembling as I drill my cock inside her. Friends don’t come while growling her name under his breath .

Emotions are liabilities, Steven.

The warnings are faded signs on a chain linked fence, yellowed with age and missing a corner. Trespassers couldn’t care less.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Her eyes glint with laughter as she asks me the same question each day. Like she’s completely invested in whether I have a life outside of work. Like she senses I’m dry drowning in front of everyone.

I swallow a bite of the bagel, which has grown soggy in her commute from home. One day, I’ll have fresh gourmet bagels delivered to her.

“No plans,” I tell her the same answer every morning. “Work and more work.”

My thoughts trail to TransAmerica once more. I want to start a defensive strategy now, but I need board approval. My gut tells me Voss will take their plans up a notch soon. My mind flits to Father, who sounded more exhausted when I spoke with him last night, and the ache resurfaces in my chest.

I should’ve stepped in sooner.

I wish I was the little boy again and I never went downstairs to search for him that night. Perhaps I’d be none the wiser, and his terse nods and deep grunts of approval would be enough.

Perhaps I wouldn’t feel so resentful and yearning for something I’d never receive.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispers.

“A little boy who got his hug stolen by a thief.”

The answer is nonsensical, and yet, an understanding dawns in her eyes. Seconds pass by, us staring at each other in relative silence, and I watch those beautiful eyes darken, a pulse fluttering at her throat.

“Maybe the thief needed that hug more than the little boy. Maybe what the little boy wanted wasn’t hugs, but something far more valuable,” she murmurs, her gaze never leaving mine.

A thickness forms in my throat and I’m rendered mute, wondering how she seems to know everything, even though I haven’t told her anything .

She understands.

She tucks a curl of hair behind her ear. “Maybe the little boy already had what his heart desired, but he just never saw it, because he was too focused on the missing hug. Tunnel vision happens to all of us.”

Her smile is a jolt of electricity to my heart, sending it off in another flurry of erratic beating. “This little boy is loved, I’m sure of it. I can’t imagine a world that wouldn’t love this innocent boy with a huge heart, a heart he keeps hidden from view.”

Her throat ripples as a flush spreads on her skin like wildfire.

I see the swath of pink swimming from the creamy skin peeking out from the collar of her blouse to her slender neck, then to her smooth face.

A swarm of tingles spreads throughout my body, obliterating all common sense, and all I can do is stare at her, memorizing the way her thick lashes fan across her face, the darkness of her pupils encroaching on the vivid purple, the small beauty mark at the edge of her lips, drawing me in.

The tip of her tongue darts out, the motion capturing my attention.

A few crumbs and a smear of peanut butter are stuck on her plush bottom lip.

I reach out before I can think otherwise, my finger lightly grazing the lips tormenting me the last few weeks, slowly wiping off the peanut butter. Her eyes flare and she intakes a sharp breath. Her legs squirm in her chair and her thighs clench.

Holding my breath, I continue tracing her lips far longer than necessary, reveling the softness and the texture.

My finger sizzles from the contact. A sharp need throbs in my chest, heated blood circulating in my veins, and my groin flickers to life.

Her lips part in a small moan, the sound hardening my cock in milliseconds.

Letting out a ragged breath, I dip the tip of my index finger into her mouth, my eyes flaring when I feel a hesitant but quick swipe of her tongue on my flesh, the sensations shooting straight to my cock, which roars to full mast. Lurid images of her dropping to her knees and wrapping those plush lips around my throbbing dick have me gripping my free hand on my chair, my body shaking with restraint .

I want to haul her against me, grind that little body on my cock. Make her scream in pleasure as I wring out orgasm after orgasm from her, knowing anyone could step in at any moment. And then I want to do it again.

“Steven,” she whispers, her eyes glazed over.

“You’re right,” I rasp, my voice hoarse as I lean in, slowly caging her in her chair. Her head falls back against the headrest. I bring my finger up between us, the tip still shining from that tortuous lick.

A taste of her.

Her lips part, her eyes darkening and she whispers, “I’m always right.”

Slowly, I slide my finger into my mouth and suck on the tip, my tongue swirling around the digit, tasting the sweetness of her mixed with the lingering taste of peanut butter.

Grace moans and lets out a shuddering exhale. I can see her beaded nipples saluting me in this position, with her head on her chair, her chest arching up.

I can smell the need from her, and fuck, do I want to respond.

“You’re right,” I repeat, my rock-hard dick threatening to break free from my pants, “perhaps the little boy didn’t need hugs…maybe he just needed a friend who understood him.”

I continue to lean down, my face hovering mere inches above hers, far too close for friends, but fuck who am I kidding here. My eyes drift to her lips again.

Plump. Shiny. Inviting.

So fucking tempting.

“A friend.” Her voice is a whisper, her eyes fluttering shut.

Our chests touch, her nipples grazing me through our clothing, and I groan, the deep rumble sounding foreign to my ears.

I dip closer, my mouth watering for another taste, a more thorough taste.

Clang. The harsh sound of the door opening, hitting on something, is piercing in this heated silence .

We pull apart with a jolt and Grace snaps up in her seat, her chest lifting and falling rapidly. My breathing is labored, like I ran up thirty flights of steps even though nothing actually happened. My pulse pounds in my ears.

“Mr. Kingsley,” Hayley greets me, her eyes taking on a shrewd glint as she notices a flustered Grace sitting as stiff as a statue, her face beet red. “Grace.”

I clear my throat and straighten to my full height. Keeping my torso away from her line of sight, because there’s no way I can hide the flagpole sticking out in my pants right now, I reply, “Hayley. You’re in early today.”

“Wanted to prepare for our meeting to discuss the Scott investments and the TransAmerica takeover in two hours. Going to review the documents the team prepared for me just to be thorough.” She keeps her gaze on me, but I can see the wheels turning in her head as she’s no doubt wondering why her boss is sitting with the intern in her cube so early in the morning.

“Thank you. Keep up the good work.”

Hayley nods and with one last lingering glance at both of us, she disappears into her office.

Grace trails her fingers over her hair, as though her ponytail was dislodged in the last few moments of…nothing, and yet, everything. “Mr. Kingsley,” she addresses me, even though the flush still lingers on her face.

Keeping my stare on her, I palm my aching erection, giving it one hard tug, my teeth biting back a growl. Look at what you do to me. Then I slowly adjust my raging hard on, watching her eyes widen and flare as the pink on her face deepens. She lets out another soft whimper and I swallow my groan.

Fuck me.

“Grace.” My voice is husky and thick. “See you at the meeting.”

After retrieving my laptop bag, I step out of her cube and walk toward my office, feeling the heat of her stare on my back. Every step is torture, my body wanting to turn around and stride back to the woman behind me.

But the growing distance is a cool breeze to my fevered thoughts and rash impulses, and eventually, the haze of lust and a heady emotion I don’t want to name slowly clear my mind.

Friends, Steven.

Emotions are liabilities. Don’t forget.

This time, the warnings stick, the adhesive barely clinging on, and I clench my fists and step inside the room.