Page 87 of Once Upon a Lie

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice slightly choked.

“I can’t believe after all this time in here alone, with all the layers I’ve taken off, all the laughter we’ve had, and the wine I’ve forced us to drink, you haven’t taken one single opportunity to kiss me yet.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to,” I lie easily. Too easily for how much I’ve been struggling. The truth is, not kissing Valentina thus far tonight will go down as one of the most valiant efforts of my life.

“I want you to,” she whispers back, cracking my resolve in two. It’d be one thing if she teased me or gave me a hard time for not knowing. If she poked fun at my cluelessness or made a show of proving me false. But this—an earnest, timid admission—is too much to bear.

Excuses pop into my head, willing me to take them as outs.

You can’t stop now; it’ll tip her off.

Undercover work is a different kind of job, and sometimes the requirements push personal boundaries.

You’re this close to getting the information you need on her books to prove her innocence, and a distraction would go a long way.

Any and all of them would do—they’re valid.

But the thing is, they aren’t the reason I lean forward and take her lips with mine, and I know it.

They aren’t the reason at all. The real reason is simpler—and worse.

And for as good as it feels to give in, to kiss her like this, the line I’m dancing with is so close to disappearing behind me, never to be seen again, it’s not even funny.

Hurting a good woman, though, I suppose, is never funny at all.

30

Valentina

Sunday, October 24

2:00 a.m.

Shane’s tongue finds the seam of my lips and slips inside, and I fall headfirst into all my patience finally paying off. A little seductive clothing removal, a bottle of wine, and a night of teasing and relentless touching and he’s finally kissing me like a man unrestrained.

I can feel his arousal growing under my lap, and the passion in the squeeze of his fingertips into the meat of my thighs. And when his hands sink into the back of my ponytail and twist, a moan slips out of me.

I want him so badly it aches.

Without breaking our contact, I rearrange the direction of my seat so that I’m straddling him, and revel in the feeling when his fingers find the top of my shorts and wiggle underneath to rub. The subtle attempt to feel more, to take more, to get more of me raises goose bumps on my skin.

Breathing heavily, I break the kiss for two gulps of air before launching back at him so hard, the desk chair teeters on its thin legs.

A deep chuckle rolls through his chest and into my mouth in a distinct wave.

“I’m not sure this office is designed for this level of intimacy,” he teases in the opening his humor creates.

I shake my head, running my fingers through his thick hair and then running my tongue around the rim of his lips. “Mmm,” I hum. “Are you saying you’re not up for the challenge?”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re . . . you’re incredible.”

“And I’ve been really, really patient with you, but . . . I’m done being patient.” I press my lips to his briefly and whisper, “I want you to fuck me, right here, right now, on this desk, Shane. Are you going to? Or am I going to have to find some other new guy from the building to do it?”

“How can a tiny woman be this bossy?”

“Years of overcompensating.”

He laughs, but I stop him with a gentle finger to his mouth and a gyration of my hips. “I want you, Shane. It’s about time you did something about it.”