Page 587 of Summer Heat
With that, he storms off.
And I smile for the first time in days.
It’s a relief to have things finally back to normal with us.
11
| JASON |
TUESDAY
(Time: 10:15 am.)
She’s back to her usual self. Thank fuck.
I hated railing on her ass last week, but it needed to be done. There’s a lot riding on the success of this project. For both of us.
Still, I feel like a dick for having to be so blunt. I know she was only late because she hasn’t been sleeping. I see the dark circles under her eyes getting worse every day. And I wish like hell that I could help her, but just as she promised, she hasn’t once shown up at my place to tear me away from my sleep since.
I fucking hate that.
At least she isn’t trying to avoid me anymore. Progress there. I swear, just one more day of that and I would’ve thrown her over my shoulder and dragged her back to my place, kept us locked in my bedroom having sex on every available surface until we both got it out of our systems.
Problem is, I don’t think getting Summer out of my system is even possible.
It’d be fine, or at least manageable, if she simply plagued my dreams. At least dreams you can wake up from. Forget, even. But these wild-ass wide-awake thoughts I’ve been having about the woman since that kiss… Hell. All the wet dreams I’ve ever had in my life combined don’t even come close to comparing.
It’s been intense.
Night after night I’m hit with these hi-def, crystal clear images of her under me, writhing and moaning, her arms stretched high above her on the bed, my left hand pinning her wrists together while my other hand slides into those sexy pair of panties I once caught a glimpse of under her PJs. The pair with tiny little cherries all over them. The pair I always end up shredding with my teeth so I can tongue her soaking wet little slit and—
Damn it. Now I’m hard again. At work, no less.
“Boss?”
Ah hell, now I’m even harder. I turn around and see the object of my burgeoning insanity holding a folder out to me.
“Call me Jason from now on,” I say without thinking. “Everyone else does. It’s just easier since we have so many different company crews on site now, each with their own foreman.”
Yep, I’m a twisted son of a bitch. Still want to hear her calling me by my name even though I can’t touch her.
She shrugs. “Okay. Here are my updated plans for the…” she trails off and gives me a weird look.
“What’s wrong?” I frown. It can’t be my hard-on making her mute, because my tool belt is doing a bang-up job keeping that from being public knowledge. Plus, the woman’s made good on her vow never to look at my cock, or even in its general vicinity, again.
I fucking hate that new development, too.
She gazes over at her desk behind me. “Did you…” She walks over and picks up a glazed blueberry fritter so big, she needs two hands to hold it. “Did you get me a pastry?”
I nod out the window over to where our guys are pigging out on doughnuts. “I picked up a couple dozen for the guys since I know they got an early start today. Knowing them, they would’ve scarfed them all down before you even got a chance to smell them so I saved one for you.”
“These are my absolute favorite,” she says, her voice sounding surprised that I’d know a detail like that about her.
“From your favorite bakery, too.”
She shakes her head at me in wonder before excitedly tearing off a piece and popping it in her mouth with a happy little smile. Followed by a tiny little moan.
That forces me to adjust the fit of my jeans. Good industrial tool belt.
