“He was a big boy. Nine pounds, four ounces. Twenty-two inches long.” The fond curl of her mouth makes my heart swell. It’s so obvious she loves Jamie with every bit of her heart. “The nurses called him their little linebacker. He came out with a full head of dark hair and an appetite that wouldn’t quit.” Then she seems to remember herself—and her animosity. “That’s it. I was there for thirty-six hours. Maxon took me home. My mother flew in from Chicago for a week. And we’ve been fine since.”
But not happy? I don’t ask because if she’s less than sublimely thrilled with her life, she won’t admit that to me. “Thanks. I know it must seem awkward, telling me about my own son’s birth years after the fact. Believe me, no one regrets my absence that day more than me.”
She pauses, as if she can’t quite decide whether to open this conversational can of worms. “I called. I left messages. I even went by your office, but Sheila told me you were ‘sick’ and couldn’t see me and…” She waves her words away. “It’s done. It’s over.”
Despite her attempt to convince me the past doesn’t matter, I hear pain in Britta’s voice.
“I was irrational and angry. I went out of my way to avoid seeing you or hearing about you. And I can never tell you how sorry I am.” At the time, I couldn’t stand the thought that the one person I’d invited into my life—into my heart—had sold me out for her own gain.
After being taken for a ride a decade ago, I could barely handle the thought that I’d somehow allowed it to happen again.
She gives me a slight nod of acknowledgement but doesn’t say a word. Obviously, she thinks that’s the end of the conversation.
It’s not. “I intend to be a good, steady father to Jamie. I know I didn’t learn much about that from my own…but I’m beginning to understand wanting what’s best for your kid. I know that’s what you want, too.”
“Jamie’s needs always come first, Griff. They have to.”
During our conversation, she’s filled up a pair of file-organizing boxes with binders. She pauses to close them up and slap a label on each. I stack them on the far edge of the table so they can be scanned and stored off-site later.
Britta thinks I’m too busy moving the box to pay attention to her straightening her skirt with a little wriggle that has my cock hardening again beneath my fly. But I’m never going to be too busy to see her, watch her, catalog her every movement.
We continue organizing the room, but now it’s quiet. That bothers me. So does the seeming lack of air conditioning back here.
But that gives me an idea…
She’s so determined to insist that our relationship is dead. Since Maxon gave me the inside scoop, I know she still loves me. Once upon a time, Britta couldn’t resist gawking at me. I’m still attracted as hell to her. I’m dying to know if it still works both ways.
Yeah, maybe I should leave it alone, especially since we’re in the office and she’s just started to defrost. But no guts, no glory, right?
I toe off my loafers and peel off my socks.
“Um…what are you doing?” she challenges.
“It’s stuffy in here. Aren’t you hot?”
As I unbutton the cuffs of my dress shirt, Britta double-checks to make sure her blouse is still fastened at the neck and tucked into her skirt, covering every inch of skin possible.
“I’m actually comfortable.”
Bullshit. I see a sheen of perspiration at her hairline.
Good. I’m about to turn up the heat. “Oh, well… Maxon has to be the only guy on the island who still loves the suit-and-tie thing. Dumb ass. I’ll be ready to carry on here in a second.”
With a hint of a smile and a raised brow, I tackle the buttons down the front of my shirt, unfastening one after the other—never taking my eyes off her.
By the time it’s open to mid-chest, Britta isn’t breathing. She’s frozen. Staring. Watching my fingers move lower and lower…
Slowly, I yank the tails from my dress pants and pull the shirt open wide.
She snaps out of her haze. “Stop! I have a fan.”
Without waiting for my reply, she darts out of the office. I lean around the corner and watch her hightail her gorgeous ass to the coffee bar. I grin as she plucks up the device gathering dust. Nothing about her reaction says unaffected. She might tell herself she hates me…but she still wants me.
A moment later, Britta dashes back into the room, holding the little oscillating fan by the neck. But I’m already naked from the waist up, smiling her way.
She stops. Her blue eyes go wide. If her stare were a physical touch, she would be caressing me everywhere.
I saunter her way and take the fan from her grip. Our fingers brush. A fine tremor works through her body. I’m so damn heartened by her response. She gets to me the same way.
“Thanks.” I nod, in no hurry to put distance between us. “I’ll get this going.”
“Put your shirt back on.” Her voice sounds slightly pleading.
I like it.
“Why?” I play dumb. “No one will see me back here except you, and you’ve seen it all.”
“But…I-I don’t think—” She sighs in frustration. “This is an office, not a strip club.”
I shrug. “I wasn’t dressed for physical labor, so I’m adapting. My chest isn’t bothering you, right?”
Her stare is still glued to my torso. I’m damn grateful my gym habit and my love of surfing have kept me lean, muscled, and tan.
“Why would it?” She sounds a bit like she’s swallowed her tongue.
“Good.” I’m working hard not to laugh. “Where’s the nearest electrical outlet?”
When she points weakly, I bend to plug the little device in. I can’t tell for sure, but I suspect she’s staring at my ass.
As I press the button to begin the soft breeze, she shakes her head suddenly as if to clear it. “I’ll, um…empty out these bottom shelves. Can you tape me up a few more boxes?”
Is that how she’s going to avoid looking at me? Escape the chemistry sweltering between us again?
Good luck with that, angel.
Britta bends to the bottom of the first bookshelf, all but perching her butt on the backs of her heels as she reaches forward for the first volume on the left. The back slit in her skirt parts, revealing the soft skin between her knees and inner thighs. Another inch or two and I’d know the color of her silky panties.
Despite the fan, the temperature in here doesn’t feel cooler at all.
&n
bsp; My gut clenches. My cock jumps. I’d accuse her of playing my game if I thought she was intentionally trying to tease me. I’m frustrated as hell, but I know I can’t tug her into my arms and kiss her—or any of the countless other things I’m fantasizing about. For now, I simply have to console myself with the knowledge that she’s aware of me again, not just as Jamie’s dad but as a man. Over time, I’ll rebuild our rapport and wear her down until she’s mine again.
I slap together a few boxes so I’m ready as she hands me more binders from the first bookcase. Finally, we finish emptying the sucker.