Maybe it was the adrenaline rush. Maybe it was because we were both just plain crazy. The sound of our silent breathing was muffled by the over-enthusiastic air-conditioning. We still had to keep it down, or there was no telling who might hear us and what they might think. I bit my lip and stifled a groan. After all, the copy room was your idea. I said we should meet in the supply room downstairs where nobody goes. The words were short and punctuated by gasping breaths. This is our special spot.
So it was the most logical place to go. And you said no to the elevator. Yeah, because we almost got busted!
I squeezed my eyes shut as my back arched against the machine. A deep moan escaped my lips, and he quickly clamped down his hand over my mouth. As he shifted balance, I slipped against the panel of buttons operating the copier. All at once, the thing started beeping and whirling as a virtual flood of papers began shooting out. What did you do?
Tom asked accusingly, pulling away, and when he took a step back, he half fell into a supply closet. I jumped off the machine and stared at it in horror, punching random buttons to get it to stop. If anything, my frantic assault only made things work. The machine picked up speed and began shooting things out, double time. There was now a small pile building up on the floor. We threw each other silent looks of panic, before I shoved him the rest of the way into the closet, whirling around desperately. I ignored him, buttoning my blouse at the speed of light. What would look stranger?
If you were in here or me? He gave me another glare, but I pushed him farther inside, arranging a few old janitor uniforms neatly over him, before shutting the door. When I was confident that everything looked as it should, I waded through the growing sea of papers and yanked open the door.
The face of a young intern stared back at me in confusion, a confusion that only intensified when he peered past me into the windstorm of paper. He rushed in past me, and, casting me a sideways glance, pushed the power button. The machine instantly shut down, filling the room with a sudden, incriminating quiet. I opened my mouth to say something clever, but eventually, just pointed half-heartedly at the button.
The intern nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact. I can get this cleaned up for you. Was there something, in particular, you needed copied? I looked up distractedly, half torn between discreetly fixing my disheveled hair and wondering why this random intern knew my name. Oh, um, no. But thank you Jason, I hastily read his I.
He blushed deeply when I said his name, turning back to the machine in a hurry. As he bent over and got to work, picking up the pieces of collateral from my make out session with Tom, I cast a fearful look at the closet. Tom was still in there, fuming—no doubt, listening to every word we said.
And who knew if he would have to open the closet in doing so. Then he met my gaze with another blush. I cocked my head with a frown, considering the strangeness of that statement, before ushering him out with gentle hands. I gave him a convincing smile as I glanced at the machine. Cami Hill is in a new relationship with her handsome, sweet-natured boss Tyler.
But she still finds herself strongly drawn to Eddie Dunning, his rival in both the business and the personal spheres. After Eddie and Cami engage in sex magick at a ritual led by Cami's best friend Maralee, he whisks Cami off to a French restaurant in San Francisco for a lesson she'll never forget Ultimate Alphas.
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Rocky lay in a pool of sunshine by the window, snoring away. Her animal whisperer tendencies hypnotized the dog completely, and he followed her faithfully from room to room, confirming his new number one choice. She was a bit messy with her clutter. She left the cap off the toothpaste, her shoes kicked off by the door, and never seemed to reach the hamper with her dunk shot. He discovered she shared his passion for forensic crime dramas and the occasional trashy reality disaster. The four-star meals he loved to experiment with finally had another participant, and he noticed more pleasure in creating dishes for her.
Of course, he kept waiting for panic to hit with the knowledge that his old life was over and he was tied down to one woman forever. They reached a tentative truce and treated each other with the utmost politeness and respect. He never expected her to be so resentful of the marriage, either. With her hair loose and messy around her shoulders, a streak of charcoal on her cheek, and her smock splattered with paint, she looked different from her normal work self.
Her cutoff shorts exposed a length of tanned leg, and cherry red toenails flashed on her bare feet. She scowled at him. Chasing after his own wife for some type of interaction. Max cleared his throat. Thought you might want to take a break. Why did she get to be cranky about being forced into marriage?
Might have to work late for the next few days. When had she decided this? She completed her work to full capacity, but he knew her usual enthusiasm had diminished. His insides lurched at the idea of not seeing her in the office, but combined with a sense of pride. The image of their night together mocked him. Naked and in his arms, she confessed her emotions in a way that made him feel treasured. Now, she made her own decisions without a thought. Her accountant sucks and really screwed things up. She consistently surprised him with her ability to move from controlled executive to an openhearted woman full of life and love.
Bookstores are the perfect blend of business and creativity. He wanted to close the distance between them—both physically and emotionally. After all, they were married for the long haul. Their connection during sex was earth-shattering. Why should they deny that part of their relationship?
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