I also leave her with a list of strict instructions.
We’re at the office for ten hours, working nonstop. Even faint whispers of the big Winthrope project were good for the firm’s clout. We’ve got a stampede of new clients beating down our door.
Once we’re finally home, I say, “Let’s go to the dining room.”
“Did you already order dinner? We weren’t here to accept the delivery.”
“Just go. No questions, brat,” I say softly.
A table against the wall holds a tower of Italian appetizers, a bottle of sweet red wine, and chocolate-dipped strawberries. The table seats ten people, so it’s perfect for this. Her tabletop kiln, sculpting wheel, and a bowl of clay are at one end, with two place settings and a candelabra at the other.
Paige’s mouth drops adorably. For a split second, I think she’s forgotten how to speak before she whirls around and flings her arms around me.
“Ward! You...you did all this for me?” She stands on her toes to kiss me and I kiss back with an equally furious joy.
“I did it for myself.”
She laughs. “Yourself? What?”
“Yeah, tonight’s the night. My fiancée’s teaching me to sculpt,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
“Ward,” she says the word like it’s scripted, and also like she’s not done. There’s more on her lips.
“What?”
She’s on her toes kissing me again, her leg curled around mine. I want her to enjoy the food and the clay, but the way my body reacts to her—thunder vibrates my blood.
Placing my hand under her thighs, I hoist her up, aligning us perfectly.
She wraps both legs around my waist.
I pull away from the kiss to take a breath, then our mouths crash together again like that spot where oceans meet, desperately trying to join.
My hand moves up her thigh, under her skirt, and up to her—bare?—bottom.
“Shit. You’re not wearing panties, you minx,” I say with a rasp that burns.
Her satisfied giggle ends the kiss early. She’s so red-faced I smile.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask, cocking my head.
“I keep hoping we’ll be alone one day and you’ll be—inappropriate. In the office, I mean, and I thought—”
I blink. “Inappropriate?”
“You know. Like on your desk. The janitor’s closet. Somewhere tiny and secret or in front of the whole city through the windows. It’s all the same.” She’s grinning sweetly and awkwardly.
I burst out laughing, amused and brutally turned on by her hot, tense expression.
“Hey, don’t laugh! Wardhole,” she mutters.
“I’m not, but there’s a certain code in the office,” I say, knowing I’m damn near fated to break it now. Still, I won’t give up without a fight.
Her forehead creases like she’s offended.
“I can’t keep my hands off of you in this house, the car...but you know that. Still, I won’t risk making a spectacle of you or our relationship at work.”
“Wait. We have a relationship?”
Fucking hell.
I’m not ready to answer that mishap, so I walk to the empty center of the table with my girl still clinging to me and lay her across it.
I know when to shut it and I think my dick appreciates me more for it.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, finding out a second later as my hand runs up her leg and hikes up her skirt.
“What we can’t do at work, though I may keep a room on call at the hotel up the street. I’d rather have you for lunch any day, Paige.” I sink down on my knees, dragging my lips up her thighs greedily.
“Oh, Ward,” she whispers, the first of many times.
The second time that phrase leaves her mouth, I think I’ve convinced her we can be inappropriate damn near anywhere.
23
High Maintenance (Paige)
“If we flipped this around—” I point to a wall on the design plan. “It would require less backsplash. We’d get the same look but lower the bid because we’d need less imported tile. I’ve seen Trista’s estimates.”
“Uh-huh.” Ward’s eyes flick between his phone and computer screen.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“What did I say?” I ask, frustration rising.
He plays with his phone again.
“Ward!”
He looks up at me. “Buy the imported tile. Just tell accounting I approved the budget.”
“That’s...not what I said.”
“I trust you on this one,” he says quietly.
For a second, I wonder if this is some new game, but his eyes are dull, even in the summery sun filtering in.
“What’s wrong?” My hands land on my hips, waiting.
But his eyes are on his phone again, reading.
“Nothing,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, right. I’ve never seen you this distracted. What’s wrong?”
He pushes his chair away from his desk and pats his leg, finally looking up with a bearish sigh.
I sit in his lap.
His arms close around me a moment later.
“I didn’t want you mixed up in this,” he begins. “But since we agreed you wouldn’t find out any shit from other people, I guess I should tell you. Nick and I tried calling my dad. He’s not answering. He’s not at the cheap travel motel either. We don’t know where the hell he is, and I don’t know what he’s planning if he’s disappeared. I just know it’s not good.”