he touches me. Just a light graze of his fingertips against my arse as I move behind him. So swift it could have been an accident, but I know it wasn’t.
This is a nightmare. And it’s a dream, too.
* * *
I listen to Olivia’s friend Louise but I angle my body so I can watch her. That dress should be illegal. And yet it’s perfectly fine; it’s not even super revealing compared to half of what the women in attendance are wearing.
But her back is one of the sexiest fucking things I’ve ever seen. Her skin is flawless gold, soft-looking, save for the little ridges of her spine that I ache to run my teeth over until she whimpers.
One look at Olivia Amorelli and I’m an animal.
I have been cradling the same Scotch all night. I throw it back now, and nod at something Louise has said. She’s obviously desperate to apply to Hughes Brophy. She’s friends with Olivia, which means she must be... I don’t know. What does it mean?
I can’t pursue Olivia and yet my eyes burn holes in her back as she rests her elbows against the bar.
‘Email me and I’ll set up a phone interview with HR,’ I say to Louise, my tone dismissive. I reach into my jacket to retrieve a card. ‘Excuse me.’
The bar is maybe ten people away from me. I focus on the wall at the back of the room and cut through the crowd, not looking left or right lest someone take it as an opportunity to speak to me.
As I get closer I see that she’s bent forward a little at the waist, her eyes focused on the bar staff as they zip around behind the counter.
I shouldn’t approach her.
She’s smarter than I am, keeping her distance as she is. But, for the love of all that is holy, if the way she walked off on me just now didn’t do something to my resolve.
I stand behind her as though I’m waiting for a drink, my body covering hers. My fingers find the sweet curve of her arse and dig into the flesh through the fabric of her dress. I feel her harsh intake of breath as it travels through her body and into me.
My smile is tight, like the rest of me. Tight and ready to explode.
She shifts a little, looking over her shoulder, her eyes colliding with mine for a moment before she turns back to the bar.
I have no idea what she’s going to do now. Smart money would be on her standing up straighter and moving away from me.
She doesn’t. She backs up a little further, so that my hand has more purchase on her perfectly shaped rear. There are people everywhere. This is dangerous. Stupid dangerous.
She rocks her hips from one side to the other, brushing her butt against my cock. Jesus.
I force myself to step back, to put some distance between us, and see the way her lips curve into a knowing smile.
‘Miss Amorelli,’ I say, the words coming out throaty and commanding. ‘Do you have a moment?’ I move to stand beside her and one of the waiters approaches us immediately.
‘What’ll it be, sir?’ the waiter asks.
I look at Olivia, waiting for her answer. ‘Coke.’
‘And a Scotch.’ My voice is thick. Can you blame me?
Neither of us speaks. We are close enough to touch yet we don’t. Almost as if we know that we just need to be patient for a moment longer.
Our drinks are pushed towards us and I can barely contain the impatience moving through me. There are a billion reasons to be strong here. I don’t listen to any of them.
‘You wanted to speak to me, sir?’ There’s defiance in her eyes and I am lost. All good intentions are destroyed by the hint of rebellion she’s pushing back at me.
I look around the room. It’s packed with people and there’s nowhere private.
‘Follow me.’ It’s a challenge, a gauntlet. We both know what will happen if we leave.
I turn away from her yet I see her in my mind’s eye, as clearly as if I were looking at her face. I weave through the crowd, confident she’s behind me. I slip away from the main group, out of the entrance to the ballroom, but I don’t stop.
The corridor is deserted except for a couple of members of staff milling about. I don’t look at them. With each step I take, the sound of the party gets softer, the pianist’s music just a distant warble.
Finally, I pass a service corridor. I stop abruptly, throwing one look over my shoulder to be sure she’s following. She is.
Like I knew she would.
Because, whatever this is between us, we are as beholden to it as one another.
The corridor stretches straight ahead and then turns a corner. There’s nothing here save for a few high chairs and a mop in a bucket. I stand with one hand on my hip, the other holding my Scotch, waiting for her.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Until she turns the corner and almost bumps into me.
She freezes, so close I can smell the intoxicating mix of her shampoo and perfume, her eyes holding mine. Anticipation kicks in my gut.
‘Well, sir,’ she says, her eyes sparking. ‘What did you want to talk about?’ She sips her drink, still watching me.
I marshal my thoughts—with difficulty.
‘Your academic results are impressive. You’ll no doubt have your choice of training contracts after you graduate.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
Sweet fuck, I love how confident she is.
‘Unless you go and mess it all up.’
She narrows her eyes, moving closer perhaps without even realising that’s what she’s doing. ‘Is that meant to be a threat?’
‘No.’ I match her step, moving nearer, my body acting independently of my mind. ‘It’s a warning.’
‘Yeah?’
‘If we do this...if I do what I want to do, and what I think you want me to do, it has the potential to torpedo everything you’ve worked for.’
She tilts her head to the side, assessing me as though I’m an object in a store she’s deciding if she wants to buy or not. ‘I see. And what exactly do you want to do to me?’
My laugh is completely flattened of humour. ‘What do you think?’
‘Show me.’ It’s a husky, heaven-sent invitation.
God.
She’s killing me. Haven’t I just told her why I can’t show her? Why we can’t
