Window Shopping

So hard I almost can’t stand it.

I lever myself up onto an elbow and memorize the sight of her flushed body, the vulnerability she’s allowing herself with me. To be naked and needy, so honest with her reactions. Like she trusts me.

Trusts me.

Those words are ringing in my head when Stella sits up, gorgeous and seductive with her lids at half mast, so beautiful she makes it hard for me to breathe, and takes hold of my open shirt, tugging me closer. Promises in her eyes. “I want to give now, Aiden. Give you what you need.” She looks down at my lap and releases a rocky exhale. “Please.”

One move. One move and I’d be on top of her. I wouldn’t think of anything but her tight heat around my cock, wouldn’t feel an ounce of this conflict or guilt over being her boss. Over our relationship beginning with me giving her a chance to shine as a window dresser. But I’d hate myself afterward for leaving those unknowns between us. And God, the trust in her eyes—that seals the deal. I can’t do this.

“I’m sorry,” I say thickly, grasping her wrists until they let go of my shirt. “I can’t, Stella. God, I want to so bad, but I can’t.”

My dick hates me. When I climb off the bed and zip up my erection with a wince, I’m pretty sure he adds “new owner” to his Christmas list. But that disgust is nothing compared to how much I loathe myself as I stumble toward the door of her bedroom. Have to go now. I don’t trust myself to maintain this resolve for much longer, especially if I see the disappointment transform her face.

“I don’t know, Stella.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I guess I am too nice for you, huh?”

Turning away from her stunned expression, I walk out of the apartment, then the building, the cold air practically hissing as it meets my fevered skin. But later…later I’ve never been colder in my life, because I’m pretty sure I’ve just blown it with the girl I’ve fallen for.

11

Stella

It’s Saturday morning. My first official day as an employee of Vivant.

Until now, I’m not really sure it has sunk in. I was given this crazy, once-in-a-lifetime chance—and somehow I delivered. I met expectations. Possible even exceeded them. Enough to be hired full time. Is this the point where I call my parents? Would they be proud of what I’ve accomplished in a short span of time? Or should I wait until I’ve managed to hold down the job a little longer before I attempt communication?

Wait. I’ll wait. Just to make sure this is really happening.

Decision made, I continue completing the new hire paperwork spread out on the table in front of me in the human resources office. When the holiday season is over, I won’t always work on weekends, but with a second window to design before Christmas Eve, there are no days off.

HR emailed me this morning with a request to come by their office and upgrade my badge, fill out a W9. As I go through the process of becoming the full-time window dresser, I keep expecting Aiden to show up in the doorway of the office, to make some kind of sense out of what happened between us last night, but he never arrives.

Can I blame him for avoiding me? God, I really messed up.

I guess I am too nice for you, huh?

The form I’m filling out blurs in front of me. What was I thinking letting Aiden break his rules? I couldn’t have been more encouraging, tempting him to ignore his conscience and do the wrong thing. One kiss and I stopped thinking of his conflict, my physical need hopping into the driver’s seat. How selfish can I get?

As if in response to my inward question, my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. My pulse spikes at the possibility that it could be Aiden. Not that I can answer it right now. Not under the hawk eye of Mrs. Bunting. Does she watch everyone this closely or is it just me? Stop pretending you don’t know the answer to that.

With a half-smile in the woman’s direction, I tug the phone out of my pocket—

And my heart sinks down to the carpet when I see “York Correctional Facility” on the screen. Nicole is calling me again.

My palms perspire so quickly, the phone almost slides out of my hand onto the floor. I want to ignore the call. Dr. Skinner would tell me that’s okay. Boundaries are healthy. If I don’t want to interrupt the rebuilding of my life with a reminder of the past, I’m allowed to make that choice for myself. But after last night, after Aiden walking out of my bedroom looking so torn and upset with himself—thanks to me—I find myself in need of reinforcement. In need of something familiar. A rock to grab onto as I’m floating quickly downstream, a little overwhelmed by the pace at which my life is happening after four years of stagnancy.