Meet Scarlett Striker, a bold and quirky journalist for the Seattle Times. She's fun, confident, sassy, and just the right amount of weird. Scarlett is determined to rise to the top, no matter what it takes.
When her boss offers a golden opportunity...
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I take a ragged breath, trying to keep myself steady as my palms press into the cold wall. Chris thrusts into me from behind, his body relentless and intense. This definitely wasn't how I imagined my afternoon going, but somehow we've ended up here—in the office supply room, of all places. Anyone could walk in, though that seems to make it more exhilarating.
Chris's hand slides around to palm my breast through my dress, and I bite my lip to stifle the moan that rises in my throat. The coil of pleasure deep inside me tightens and, before I can brace myself, my orgasm hits. I barely hold back a louder sound, thinking of Tom down the hall—because God knows, if anyone's going to hear us, it's him. Chris groans low against my neck, and I feel his body tense as he reaches his release too.
Leaning my forehead against the wall, I try to catch my breath, the heat of the moment still pulsing through me. Chris presses a kiss to my shoulder, the gentle touch in stark contrast to the intensity of what we just did. When he pulls away, I feel a pang of disappointment. Back to work, I guess.
How did this even happen? One minute, I was catching him up on his meetings, and the next, he was pulling me into his arms, telling me how much he needed me. And me? I couldn't say no. I never say no to him. That's the scary part.
I haven't told him about Nicolás yet, about how my father has apparently decided to reappear out of thin air. Would Chris even remember that guy from Paris? The thought flickers through my mind, but before I can dwell on it, Chris's voice breaks through my thoughts.
"God, I love you," he murmurs, his voice still heavy with satisfaction as he steps back from me.
I pull my underwear back up and smooth my skirt down, turning to watch him toss the condom into the trash. The janitors must hate us by now—this can't be the first time we've christened this supply room. Honestly, I should feel a little more embarrassed about how often this happens, but it's hard to care when the man standing in front of me looks the way he does. Who would say no to that?
Chris walks back up to me, cupping my face in his hands, his touch warm and possessive. I want to say the words back to him, to tell him those three little words too—but something stops me. I don't know what it is, but the words catch in my throat. Chris doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't mind that I haven't said them yet.
"I have to head to this boring-ass meeting," Chris grumbles, rolling his eyes. "CEO call with the manufacturing heads. You know, the usual thrilling stuff."
I smirk, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Poor baby," I tease. "How will you survive without me for an hour?"
He chuckles, giving me one last lingering kiss before pulling away. As I watch him go, my smile fades, and that familiar gnawing feeling creeps back in.
Chris is still keeping things from me—things about his family, about Rebecca. Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to say those three little words yet. Because if I do, and then I find out his secret is big enough to break us, I'll be shattered. The thought of it terrifies me. I want to trust him, but the longer this goes on, the harder it becomes to silence my doubts.
