Suddenly, I remember what he said to me when we were dancing earlier. I thought he was just joking, but now I’m not so sure. There’s nothing like watching two people who are in love to make you realize you’re terribly, utterly, and entirely alone.
My head tells me to stay where I am, or better yet, get the heck out of here, but my heart says something different. My heart wins out. I walk over and plop myself down next to Philippe. I know touching should be off-limits, but now that I’m next to him, he’s warm. Kind of damp, but warm too. He still smells like his usual expensive cologne. Maybe I should be freaked out about so much sweat because the bed and the sheets and Philippe’s clothes are all damp, but I don’t think it’s gross. I don’t think he’s gross. He could never be gross. Not even… Not even if he rolled in cow dung or something.
I lean my head against Philippe’s shoulder. I’m a little astounded to feel him tremble beneath me. Was he shaking before?
I reach up and stroke his hair. It’s so wet, it’s like he just got out of the shower, but it’s still soft beneath my fingertips. I let my hand fall away to his back, where I massage in slow circles. My heart leaps into my throat and seems to cascade down to my toes at the same time.
“Can I do something? What can I say? I want to help. I want to…to fix this for you. Is it fixable? Even a little?”
“Nothing a shower couldn’t fix.” Philippe stands suddenly and abruptly. Like he needs to get away from me. Like he’s scared of being this close. I’m scared too, scared senseless.
“I doubt they do dry-cleaning in the middle of the night, or I’d send your clothes out. I know you told your sister you’d be there in the morning. Neither of us has a change of clothes. Should I…do you want me to go to your house and get something for you?”
“No. Thank you, though. I’ll figure it out.” Philippe starts off towards the bathroom again, but I jump up.
“Philippe!”
He stops mid-stride and stands there. He doesn’t move, and I don’t move either, but I know I have to. I’m the one who yelled his name out like a crazy person. I leap up and stalk over to him. I don’t know what gives me the courage, but there must be some internal well I’m drawing on because I brush my fingers against his knuckles.
“We could always say we got drunk and fell into the Jacuzzi. Do you think it would be a plausible excuse?”
His eyes crinkle and narrow, but his lips quiver a little. I stare at them, and my whole body turns into a riot of sensations and a storm of butterflies. I feel connected to him, and by more than just our intertwined fingers. I set my other hand on Philippe’s cheek.
“I’m lonely too,” I blurt out. Apparently, it’s a good night for embarrassing confessions.
He studies me. This man who, for the longest time, I thought was just my boss. I thought he was a cold, unfeeling monster. I wrote the worst things about him because I thought the worst of him. Now my mind is changing. I need to resist him, but I’m not actually sure how to do that anymore, and it feels strange. It’s like we see each other. We get each other. Like there’s this shitty string that refuses to snap holding us, binding us together. It’s shitty because it’s scary, and I doubt either of us want it to be there, but it refuses to snap, and now we’re here.
So close.
So. Very. Close.
I cup his cheek, which by now is rough with a fresh growth of stubble. I drink him in and let him search and devour me with his misty grey-blue eyes.
“I—I want you to know you mean something to a lot of people. Especially your family. I could see how much your mom and sister love you.”
“And what about you?” His face angles as he leans into my hand.
“I…” I can’t deny him. Not now. I have no defenses left. I’m destroyed. Obliterated. I don’t even know who I am right now. This doesn’t feel real, making me think we might both still be sleeping because I don’t feel like this in real life. I don’t let myself feel like this. Not for Philippe Wilson, my boss. Not for anyone. “I’m here.”
I watch those grey-blue orbs change and darken with lust and desire. He wants me. I should be panicking and backpedaling, withdrawing, but instead, I close my eyes and lean in. I turn off my brain and turn on something else, defying gravity and logic.
And then I’m kissing him.
Philippe Wilson.
My boss.
The man I apparently can’t stand.
CHAPTER 13
Philippe
I’m starting to really like kissing Sutton. A little too much. A lot too much. Her lips are like heaven, and her mouth is like coming home. I could die a happy man (and that’s a big change because I haven’t known what happiness is for years) just from kissing her.
I break it off as Sutton goes in to nip my bottom lip. She misses, and our chins knock together. She pulls away, confusion and anger flaring to life in her eyes. “What the—”
I caress her chin with my thumb. God, I love her chin. She has a beautiful chin. She has a beautiful everything, and I want her mouth. I also want that dress off and in a crumpled heap on the floor, which
