One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

She has the front of my shirt in both fists, and we’re both panting. The driving need clouding my judgment only moments ago is met, and the reality of what we just did hits me hard.

Releasing her, I ease her down to her feet. For a moment, we’re in this space facing each other, sharing our breath but not making eye contact. Her head is bowed, and she releases my shirt. I put my palm on the glass beside her head and rub my eyes before sliding my hand up and into my hair. She turns to refasten the buttons on her dress, and I straighten my pants.

We’re slipping back into our roles, controlled executives. Calm, collected professionals. Only now I’m shell-shocked. Whatever the hell just happened, it got a little too real. I don’t understand it. I don’t know how she could come in and turn my life upside down so quickly.

“You finished the mission statement,” I say, clearing my throat.

Her hands stop moving over her dress, and she leans against the glass windows, exhaling a laugh. Covering her eyes with a slim hand, just as fast she wipes it away and resumes the façade of casual.

“Yes. I tweaked it this morning over coffee. I think you’ll like how it turned out.”

I don’t even pick up the manila folder. I go back to my chair and sit. “I said I trust you.”

It’s quiet a moment. A long moment. The brass clock on my desk ticks too loudly in the silence stretching between us, until at last she moves, heading for the door. “It’s still a ridiculous office.”

“It’s an extension of my home.”

She stops and glances back, stealing my breath. “Bedroom and all?”

My eyes travel over her body, pausing a moment at her breasts. “It’s something new I’m trying. You like it?”

“Hmm,” Her lips poke out as she pretends to think. “A little bitey, but overall not objectionable.”

It was a hell of a lot better than that, still, I enjoy her playful side. I do a small shrug. “Angels kiss. Lawyers bite. It goes with the whole shark metaphor.”

That gorgeous smile crosses her lips, and I can’t help it. God, I do want more. A glance at my calendar, and I see it.

“Shit, I almost forgot.” Lifting my pen, I circle the date. “The BGCB’s annual gala is two weeks from Saturday. Navy Pier ballroom.”

She only pauses a beat before continuing to my door. “Seems like I’ve heard of that.”

“We’re a sponsor. I need a date.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Go with me.” I say it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid—not giving her a chance to anticipate the shock.

Stopping at the door, I watch as she holds the handle, her back to me. A few agonizing moments pass before she answers. “A lot of the old crowd attends those things.”

Not what I expected. “I’m sure you’ll know most everyone there.”

“I’ll know a lot.” Her voice is quiet, and it strikes me she’s not happy about that.

“They’re a bunch of assholes, but at least they mean well.”

Glancing back, a small smile lifts her lips. “Do they? I’ve never been able to tell.”

Sitting forward, I lift the pen off my desk. “So we keep each other company a few hours, have a few drinks, know we’re helping a good cause...”

“The Boys and Girls Club.”

“Right.”

She turns away again. “I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t wait too long.” She doesn’t answer or look back. She’s out the door, leaving my office feeling too big and too empty.

Fieldinghouse is open on my desktop, but my mind is all over the place. Last night, today... What the hell are we doing?