Page 582 of Summer Heat
I undo a button.
Then another.
“Jason,” she breathes, and my cock jumps at the sound of my name crossing her lips for the first time. She’s never called me anything but boss or Mr. Steele until now.
If she does it again, I’ll be taking her right here on the goddamn living room rug.
Jesus Christ. This woman is going to destroy my sanity, my sense of right and wrong. Unless I do the smart thing and hit the brakes this instant.
But I don’t.
Instead, I spear my fingers through her sun-streaked hair, pulling her messy bun loose. The soft, silky waves tickle as they tumble over my hand to skim the top of her hip. I hadn’t realized her hair was so long. Or that letting it out of those sensible buns she always wears would release the scent of flowers. Summer flowers. Fitting.
And now, all I can think about is how it would feel to wrap those long, flower-scented, golden-brown strands around my fist as I coax her lips open with my thick, hard—
Fuuuck. How does this sweet, maddening little woman manage to get past every last one of my defenses without even trying?
> If I don’t stop now, I won’t stop at all.
“You should go,” I somehow manage to mutter thickly, surprised at how fucking hard it is to utter the words.
I’d thought it’d eventually fade, this spark between us, this tension.
Evidently, I’d thought wrong.
8
| SUMMER |
FRIDAY
(Time: For the first time ever, I have no clue.)
“You’ve never told me to leave before,” I murmur inanely. I’m not sure why it bears mentioning, but it does. “Not once, in all this time we’ve known each other. No matter how annoying I got. You’ve shut the door in my face before I made it inside, yes, but you’ve never made me feel unwelcome, unwanted here once I got past the door.”
“You’re always welcome here, Summer.”
“But today, you want me to leave.”
He sighs gruffly. “No, I actually don’t. And that’s exactly why you need to leave.” His tone is firm this time, resolute. He lets go of me and takes a step back.
The loss of his touch, his body heat, is so acute, a tiny sound of protest escapes me.
He halts and looks down at me as if he’s worried he’s hurt me. We’re toe to toe, face to face, and all I want is to get that heat back, his touch back.
It’s as if he can hear my thoughts loud and clear, and his lips instantly press into a grim line in response. The visible regret darkening his deep green eyes is what jerks me back to reality.
What am I doing?
This is my boss, my landlord. The best boss and landlord I’ve ever had.
Be that as it may, logic and reason both appear to be MIA as I begin to close the distance between us one more time. Even though everything inside of me is screaming at me to stop. Before I cross one of those invisible lines I can’t uncross later.
But I don’t care.
I reach up to touch his face. God, he’s just so rugged, and…manly.
The stubble across his jawline feels like coarse sandpaper, which makes me wonder how it would feel under my lips. Or rubbing against my skin.
