To Get Me to You (Wishful 1)

“The idea of opening your own firm really hadn’t occurred to you?”

“It really hadn’t. I mean, maybe down the road in another decade or so, when I had more experience, more awards, a more solid reputation to base a firm around. But those things don’t matter so much here. And I’ve discovered through my work with the coalition that I really like running stuff.”

“You’re good at it. And I believe we’ve discussed the benefits of being your own boss.”

Norah could think of a lot more inventive ways to play hooky now than what they’d managed so far. The sparkle in Cam’s eye said he could, too. Because that glint was dangerous, she turned her mind to the details of the firm she hadn’t yet decided to open. “I’d need to come up with a name. And a logo. And a business plan. That should actually come first.” Her fingers began to clench, and she automatically started looking around for pen and paper.

Cam reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and produced a small notepad. At her start of surprise, he said, “I started carrying it weeks ago after watching you write all the way up to your elbow when you couldn’t find paper.” He dug back in the pocket and came up with a pen. “Here. Purple for brainstorming.”

Her chest went tight, her throat thick.

“It is purple, right? I thought the blue was for action items.”

“It is.”

He looked vaguely uncertain. “What is this look?”

“This is me going completely gooey. Like homemade marshmallow fluff gooey.”

“My family handed you half a business concept and a pen makes you gooey?”

“The fact that you know my color coding system, what it’s for, and that you have—” She tugged open the pocket to check. “—all the major colors in your pocket just in case I need them makes me gooey.”

“You have them organized in at least four places at my apartment. It isn’t hard to grab

a handful and go.”

Norah leaned in to brush her mouth over his. “It’s observant and thoughtful. You’re always doing stuff like this, all these little signs that show you’re paying attention. That you see me. You just…undo me.”

He stepped close, crowding her back against a desk until he’d caged her between it and his body. “I like seeing you undone. It’s those business suits.”

“What?” She couldn’t breathe with him this close. Not when she could feel the heat of him and her hands itched to tug at his shirt until she found skin.

“You’re always so neat and tidy. Put together. It makes me want to muss you up. Even more now that I know how gorgeous you are when you come apart from my hands. My mouth.”

The gravel in his voice, the memories he evoked, had her going hot and wet.

“Cam.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“We’re done with business for the day. And I’ve got my mind on pleasure.” Cam dipped his head to kiss a trail along the column of her throat. She dropped her pen.

God. “I can see that.” He found a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear that made her shudder and fist a hand in his shirt. “Cam.”

“Mmm?” He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her sweater, skimming along her spine in a stroke that made her arch like a cat.

“You’re distracting me.”

She felt his lips curve against her throat. “That’s the idea.”

Those hands. How was she supposed to think with them on her?

There were really good, rational reasons hanging out at the periphery of her mind about why this wasn’t a good idea. She came close to grasping at them, then he slid his hands around her ribcage, up to cradle her breasts. His thumbs brushed the stiffened peaks through her bra and a bolt of heat shot straight to her center. Norah dragged his head down and took his mouth in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. The taste of him punched into her and fried what remained of her synapses, leaving her desperate and wanting.

As he gripped her hips and lifted her onto the desk, she was already tugging his shirt free. Stepping between the V of her thighs, Cam dragged her forward until they were pressed, center to center, separated only by a few inconvenient layers.