But I can’t. Because what I want is to tell him to leave his wife once and for all. But that’s selfish of me, terrible. And a part of me is still angry with him. He told me they’d split up, and now I know they’re still married, trying to work things out.
“There’s nothing you can do,” I tell him, crossing my arms. “It’s not about us.” Not exactly. “It’s just… this whole situation. I can’t.”
“Why not?” He takes a step toward me, and it’s almost more than I can bear. The look in his eyes, the heat radiating from him. He’s so close I can practically taste him again. I know exactly what those lips would taste like if I let myself sink into a kiss. I know how that body would feel, rock hard and solid as he pulled me against him.
“It’s too complicated.”
His brow furrows. “Because of Sheryl?” he asks, totally thrown, as if he hadn’t already guessed my concern.
Which only makes my anger flare back anew. “Yes, because of Sheryl. Because I work with you, and I work with your—” I catch myself barely in time. Manage to insert the extra word. “Your ex-wife. It’s too messy.”
“I told you, she’s my past,” Lark says, echoing what Marcel told me earlier. Yet I can’t shake the image of him hand-in-hand with Sheryl at the therapist’s office, seeing a counselor. Trying to work on his marriage.
She didn’t look like your past last week, I think, but I don’t say it, because we’re in public, and we just finished filming a live TV segment, and who knows how many eyes are already on us right now, curiously watching the new up and coming makeup creator arguing with her business investor.
Lark takes my wrist, and I freeze in place, trying my best to ignore the spark in my veins at his touch. “Cassidy.” His eyes bore into mine. “I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, dreaming about you.”
My pulse skips a beat at that. Unbidden, an image rises to mind. Lark, naked in his big king size bed. One hand fisted around his thick, veined cock, as he strokes himself, thinking about me.
Fuck. I’m starting to get wet just imagining it, and feeling his hand wrapped around my wrist. Gentle, now. But there was a time he used that hand to pin my wrist over my head while he fucked me senseless, and god damn, I cannot get him out of my head, ever, can I?
“I know you’ve been feeling the same way,” he says, lower, taking another step closer to me, until we’re mere inches apart. Close enough our chests would touch if I so much as inched forward. “We don’t have to suffer like this. We can figure it out together, if you’ll let me.”
It would be so easy. So easy to sink into him now. Melt and forget everything else. Forget my anger, my upset. To just ignore the whole messy situation and let myself have the one man I’ve ever craved this badly.
But I still have my principles. Whatever else I’ve become; however far and hard I’ve fallen for him… it can’t trump my beliefs. And my beliefs tell me that whatever I’m doing now is wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. And then, gently as possible, I twist my arm free from his grasp, striding away across the studio floor.
“Cassidy, wait.” His footsteps chase after me. “It’s late. At least let me walk you to your car.”
One glance through the studio’s lone window—I assume they limit them because they need to control all the lighting sources inside the building—tells me he’s right. It is a lot later than I thought. The sky is already darkening toward a fiery orange sunset overhead.
“This neighborhood isn’t the safest at night,” he continues, drawing closer the longer I stand there eying the skylight.
I hadn’t realize how much time passed while we were filming and between all the prep work and the interview itself, the multiple takes we had to do, and then all the tear down work.
Doesn’t matter. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Good night, Lark.” With that, I push through the studio doors out into the lobby.
This time, he lets me go.
There’s a security guard on duty still, which makes me feel just a little bit better about shooting down Lark’s offer. I sign out, and then tap on my phone, calling a ride share car. The pickup point is on the far side of the parking lot. I glance outside. There are only two streetlamps in this lot, one right next to the building, and another on the far side of the lot. That’s got to be where the ride shares pick up.
With an annoyed sigh, I push through the doors and out onto the street. The air smells faintly damp, as if there might be a storm brewing somewhere in the distance. I shrug on my sweater and pray the rain holds off until my car arrives, at the very least.