Illicit

Still shirtless and barefoot.

Pulling out of the parking garage, he turned into traffic so quickly I had to grip the oh shit bar for support.

He wove through side streets like a bat out of hell, driving in the opposite direction of Park Slope. I’d never been to his house, and I had no idea where he lived, but after my little admission tonight, I highly doubted he was taking me home to his place.

Nah, he was probably taking me to the Brooklyn Bridge to haul my ass off the side of it.

I sat quietly, afraid to move. Afraid to speak. Afraid to breathe too loudly.

I’d only had a few weeks with Cabot Reed and now I was going to lose him.

Twenty minutes into the ride, he whipped his head toward me. “You can’t be in love with me!” he roared, his knuckles white with how hard he gripped the steering wheel.

I jerked back from the force of his words, the volume of his voice, shrinking into the seat.

He let out a low growl of frustration, then the light changed and he hit the gas so hard the inertia pushed me back into the seat.

“You’re scaring me,” I whispered.

He grunted. “Oh, you’re scared?” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve never been as fucking scared as the day  you walked into my life, Rylan Blake, and I was right. You turned it onto it’s fucking head, just like I knew you would.”

Okay… rude.

He eased onto the Interstate, then abruptly pulled to the side of the road and threw the car into park. He spun toward me so fast I quickly moved to press my back against the door.

His eyes searched mine frantically. “Every fucking thing is you, do you get that?” He breathed hard. “Everything. Since the day you walked into my life, I fucking choose my goddamn socks based on whether or not I think you’ll like the color.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“That first week? When it was so obvious that we”–he motioned between us– “it was so obvious, right? I mean, I know I wasn’t the only one who felt it.” He scoffed. “And I couldn’t do anything about it. But then, oh fuck, those two days when I had to wait for you to tell me what you decided about the Rabbit Hole…” He shook his head. “I’ve never been more useless in my life.” He laughed, hanging his head. A long moment passed before he looked up at me again. “Every manuscript I read, all I can think about is ‘will Rylan like this?’” He laughed again, a bitter, but slightly amused sound. “Everything that passes by my desk makes me think of you. I’m the goddamn CEO of Reed Publishing and I can’t even come to a decision without wondering if you’ll agree with me.”

My heart pounded against my ribs like they were a bongo drum, steady and fast. This man who never shared his emotions or his feelings with me was giving them all to me, all at once.

It was… a lot to take in.

Reed grunted, then dragged his hands through his hair and slammed them back onto the wheel. Shaking his head, he pulled back onto the highway, his lips moving like he was in a silent debate with himself.

Likely deciding with part of the Brooklyn Bridge was the highest.

We passed over the East River and, after a few moments, I finally found the courage to speak.“Where are we going?”

“Whitestone,” he snapped.

My eyes widened. I looked back out the window at the signs passing overhead. Is that where he lived? I would have pictured him as more of a high-rise penthouse kind of guy, living the good life on the Upper East Side, reading about hedge funds and–

“Thirty-nine fucking years,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

I waited, biting my bottom lip.

He side-eyed me. “Thirty-nine fucking years and no one has managed to walk into my fucking life and turn it upside down. Then you came running into Reed Tower trying not to crap your pants and I fell in love with you the very first fucking day.”

I gasped and covered my mouth. Tears pressed at the backs of my eyes.

Then he laughed, and I froze.

“The CEO and the intern? Seriously? I’m goddamn Bill Clinton.”