Page 52 of The Path to Loving Him
Hot.
And is making me think crazy thoughts in my head like . . . maybe I could stay a little longer and we could do this again. But when his eyes shift to the door, I realize that thought is a fleeting one.
This is a one-time thing, Gabby.
Keep it that way.
I wait for a moment to see if he’s going to say something, anything, but as he remains silent, my nerves get the best of me, and before I can stop myself, I say, “Uh, sorry if that was?—”
“Don’t fucking apologize,” he growls, his brows pinched together in irritation that I would even consider apologizing.
“Right.” I nod. He’s right, I should not apologize. I never apologize about sex, so why start now? “Um, are you feeling better?”
He pushes his hand through his hair. “I mean . . . how could I not?”
That makes my cheeks blush as he reaches for the door, and I lead the way out to the kitchen. Not a child in sight, which is a good thing. We didn’t make enough noise to wake her up.
“Is it anything you want to talk about?” I ask. “You know, now that you’re more . . . relaxed.” God, I can still feel him between my legs.
I can still feel the scrape of his beard.
And I know I have his scent all over me. It’s intoxicating me as I attempt to act as casual as possible.
“Just work stuff. I coach baseball, and they hired a new assistant, and well, they’re taking a lot of control out of my hands, and I hate that.”
I blanch.
God, what was I thinking?
This man is my landlord.
My boss.
And here I am, freely dropping to my knees.
But fuck, it’s Ryland Rowley. He’s so good. Everything about him.
So good.
“And I don’t handle situations well when I don’t have control,” he continues.
My mouth goes dry, and I don’t know what to say when his eyes meet mine.
I really don’t.
Because, as Taylor Swift would say, I’m the problem . . . it’s me.
“But I don’t need to bore you with that shit.” He lets out a deep breath. “Anyway, this probably shouldn’t happen again.”
I nod, feeling like this is some sort of out-of-body experience. “Yeah, probably not.”
“It’s too risky.”
“Right,” I say.
“And . . . addictive,” he says, his eyes reaching mine.
I swallow, all the worries and the anxiety over the situation taking over. What the hell do I do? Do I report to the school and tell them I can’t take the job? When Ryland finds out it’s me, he might have a heart attack, especially if they’re giving him a hard time.
