Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

This unforgivable lapse, along with what had happened on Saturday, was making him doubt his ability to effectively protect her in future. He had allowed her—let’s face it—mundane daily life to lull him into a false sense of security…and that negligence could be potentially lethal for her.

“I would never have agreed to having you in here with us while I did something so personal. It would have been an invasion of her privacy,” she said, reaching for a bottle of water on her desk and lifting it with an only slightly trembling hand.

Cute that she thought she would have had any choice in the matter.

But the thought of coming in here with them hadn’t even occurred to him. And that was the real problem.

“Ugh, I know that look,” she said, after taking a long drink from her bottle. “Are you thinking of reporting yourself again?”

“I should. It was careless of me. You could have been badly injured.” They both paused to stare at the still-dripping coffee stain on the wall. Vicki was the first to break the silence, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“No chance of that. Her aim was terrible.” It was a feeble attempt at a joke, but he found himself unable to summon even the slightest bit of amusement.

“Vicki, this is serious.”

“Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. His alarmed gaze immediately ran over her small frame again, assessing her for injuries, wondering if he had missed something before.

“What?” he asked, when he couldn’t find anything visibly wrong with her.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever used my name. I didn’t think you even knew it.”

Oh. Shit.

Another inexcusable lapse.

“Of course, I know it.” He sounded grumpy and self-conscious even to his own ears.

“So why have you never used it before now?”

“Because it’s inappropriate. You’re the client.”

“Technically, my brother is the client.”

God, she was a smart ass. He clenched his jaw and refused to respond, choosing to glare at the coffee-stained wall behind her.

“So why now?” Her words echoed Linda’s earlier phrasing, and Ty was damned if he knew the answer to either question.

“Why use my name now?” she elaborated unnecessarily.

He scrambled for an explanation, even though he didn’t really have one. “To emphasize the gravity of the situation.”

“Oh, I understand the gravity of the situation, Tyler. I’m the one who had a mug of steaming hot coffee flung at her.”

He winced. It was the first time she had used his given name. So many boundaries being crossed right now. “Ty, please. A tiler is a person who lays tiles.”

“So, you prefer a word synonymous with bondage?” she asked her brow quirking.

Ah, no. He was so not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

“It is part of my job description after all.”

Why the hell had he said that?

“Is it?” Her voice had gone all husky, and her breathing had definitely increased. And…was that a blush? “You’ve never had to tie me up.”

Oh, Jesus! Her words, breathless, unexpected, with a lilt of flirtation coloring their cadence, had an entirely unwanted effect on his…fuck, on his everything. She was staring at him, and he felt like he was drowning in that beautiful, unwavering gaze. Her eyes could see straight through him. He was sure of it. She had to know how his heart was racing, his hands—hidden behind his back—had started to shake, and his throat had gone dry.

As he shifted his focus to her pretty pink mouth—with those plump, soft looking lips—he was fighting desperately hard to keep his cock from going from semi-hard to fully, proudly erect.

Cut it out, Ty!

This was ridiculous, he was a professional, she’d been his charge for more than a year, and this had never been a problem before. It was a passing thing, a rogue attraction brought on by the fact that he’d had his hand on her ass just two nights ago…

No! Absolute worst thing to think about right this moment.

Uh, math problems, prostate examinations, toads…Linda Blair spewing up pea soup in The Exorcist.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, discreetly practiced some deep breathing, and focused his attention on her again. She was watching him with that cute, quizzical tilt to her head. He’d always found it endearing. Only he’d never really known that until right now.

Cow pies, pumpkin spice, clowns, lucky rabbit foot…

He shuddered. The rabbit foot did it every time. When he was a kid, one of his dad’s friends had given him a rabbit’s foot. He had pictured a poor, fuzzy, footless bunny hobbling around a meadow somewhere, and the horrific, traumatizing image had remained with him since.

Feeling better, under control, back to himself, he inhaled deeply, and opened his mouth to speak. His intention was to neutralize the highly charged situation with something noncommittal. Instead he heard himself say, “You’re right, I haven’t had to tie you up yet…but there’s always a first time for everything.”