What in the holy hell just happened?
I’m standing at the bathroom sink, my fingers clamped onto the counter, desperately needing the support. The chemistry between us has a lingering spark, at least on my side.
I spent a lot of time daydreaming about him, to the point I thought he wanted something with me. I was foolish, but Marcy brought me back to Earth—hard. Honestly, who would believe a guy like Addler de Marco would want me. Fat, frumpy me.
He’s the only son of a wealthy family with a dark history. The popular girls surrounded him at every point of the day, even coming up with wild questions as an excuse to talk to him when we sat together at the chemistry lab. Why would he ever give me a second look or even a first? Now this.
I turn on the faucet, cupping both hands under the stream then bring the water up to my face. Unfortunately, it’s not cold enough to do any good. Let’s get real. When it comes to that experience with Addler, it’ll never be cold enough to do much good.
Pulling the towel over, I bring it to my face. The material is soft and fluffy, lightly scented. The edge of the seam tracks along my temple, taking me back to when Addler’s lips were on that very spot. Oh God, I just let him…finger me to near orgasm, while standing in the kitchen.
I bite my lip. What am I going to do? I thought I could handle this. It’s not the conditions he put on this trade. They were surprising enough. I’m not happy about it, but the alternative is too much to deal with. I don’t even want to think about what people would say if anyone found out. The chance it can happen is too much for me to worry about now.
This reaction to him is beyond what I expected. Hell, I’ve never experienced anything nearly as overwhelming as what just happened. Another second, and I would have orgasmed. How could I get that far when everything he did was with me fully dressed?
How do I get the sensation of his touch out of my head? Pressing my thighs together sends a shiver through my body. Every minute of what just happened echoes in my mind. Was he anywhere near the same? I was too far gone to even think about anything past holding on for dear life.
My reflection offers an indecent view of my breasts. This is how he saw me. I shake my head, buttoning up the placket of my blouse. Remembering how his fingers felt brushing against me. How they were moving over my pussy, sliding into my folds. The way he was drawing tight little circles over my clit until I was ready to explode.
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking away the memory. There’s nothing else I can do. At this point, I’m just hiding, and I can’t get away with it for much longer. Turning toward the door, I take a calming breath then let myself out of the room. The hall that seemed so long earlier is now getting me to the kitchen much too fast.
The left side of the kitchen table sits empty. Heat travels across my cheeks. A spotlight might as well be shining down on me, identifying me as a thief of some sort or a spy. A damn lousy one at that. Head held high, I refuse to let my step falter.
Addler’s at the kitchen island, chef knife in hand, dicing up what appears to be a mountain of onion. If I’m going to be here for the next two days, I might as well make myself useful. I hesitate for a moment, making sure my voice will be clear. “Do you need some help?”
“No, I’ve got this. I’m just marinating some steaks for dinner.” He gives me a quick glance from the corner of his eyes while he continues dicing. “You’re not one of those people who’s constantly dieting, are you?”
With this waistline, he must be kidding. I scoff. “I eat everything.” Sometimes enough to regret it when I pull on my jeans the next day.
“Good. This is a cattle ranch, after all, regardless of the fact we don’t have massive herds anymore, so we have hearty meals.” He spreads out half the onion mixture in a container, puts two seasoned steaks on top, then adds the remaining onion. “How about you put a lid on this then set it aside while I clean up so we can get back to work.”
Pulling the container close, I inspect the contents. Steak and onions, and, from the aroma, I’d say soy sauce, red wine, and some spices. The man has skills.
“On the counter.”
“Got it.” I move over to set it on the counter as instructed.
“We’ve got about an hour or so before those can go on the grill,” he says, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“You’re grilling?” I’m flabbergasted. Isn’t that a whole big production?
“It’s the best way to have steak.” He says it as if stating fact. “Grab some drinks from the drawer.”
I pull open the drawer on the large, stainless-steel refrigerator. He’s well stocked, set so he wouldn’t need to run to the store any time soon. I pause when I spot the bottles of hard apple cider stacked in the corner. It’s the same brand I have at home. I glare at the label, as if it’s the drink’s fault I got myself into this mess. Grabbing two Cokes, I hand one to him, and we head back to the table. Neither one of us mentions the missing laptop.
“Hold on,” he says, circling my wrist and sending an array of goose bumps up my arm.
Cautiously, I set the drink on the table and wait to see what he wants. His gaze goes to my top. I look down, expecting to have something on the shelf, as Mom refers to it. But no. Addler reaches over and his fingers work the buttons open again, one after another, sending a slight shudder through me.
My nipples peak. “Oh.” I can barely breathe, and I’m not sure what else to say since no is off the table. His expression remains relatively neutral while heat rushes across my cheeks again. I roll my bottom lip, biting down on it lightly as his knuckles brush my chest. I’m reacting to his slightest touch.
“Keep this open from now on.” He says it as if it’s a normal part of business. Maybe this is what he’s used to, but, for me, it’s like having my brain come to a skidding halt.
He’s left my bra visible again, which inspires a thought. “I’m going to need a change of clothes and my toiletries.” Obviously, I’m not prepared for spending the night, much less the weekend. Maybe if I can talk him into letting me go home, we can renegotiate.
“We’ll deal with it later,” he says dismissively, effectively shutting down the conversation. “Clothes will be the last thing you’ll need to worry about the next couple of days.”
I swallow hard at the implication.