I can't tell, not from reading him, because, like always, his feelings are perfectly masked from my probing eyes.
So annoying.
"What do I have today?" he smoothly shifts the subject, his eyes on me with a businesslike intensity.
I guess we're back to being boss and assistant.
I don't know whether to be irritated by the professional boundary or relieved by it. For a second, I wondered if he ever thinks about the kiss. I couldn't stop thinking about it yesterday; I dreamt about it, and in my dream, it went a step further than just a kiss.
I shivered at the memory of my erotic dream, my clit twitching as I remembered how he touched me there.
I shook myself, trying to shake off the dream and its erotic effect on me, and when I returned to reality to carry on with our conversation, I found him staring at me with such an intense look on his face that it stole the air from my lungs.
"What were you thinking about?" He drawled, smirking at me in that dangerous way that sets my heart on fire.
I panicked at his question, remembering how he had made me share my thoughts during my interview.
Still knowing what awaits me if I don't answer his question, I couldn't answer. The words wouldn't come. He gets to his feet and approaches me, his stride slow and teasing.
My heart raced like a warhorse as I watched him walk toward me. He looks like a jungle cat approaching its prey, and I am that prey.
Do I want to be caught?
My heart is having a hard time making that decision.
Or maybe it has already, and it's my head that is being a party pooper, throwing out warning bells like a cigarette advert.
Smoking is bad for you; it can cause cancer, send you to an early grave, and despite knowing how dangerous it is to smoke, people still crave it like their next hit, and this is exactly how I am feeling right now.
He is bad for my heart, my mental well-being, with a capital B, but my body craves all his badness in the worst possible way.
He is now standing before me, and I quickly realize how much effort we put into breathing.
Just take me already! my mind screams, even as I stare at him with a dumb, hypnotized expression.
"Were you thinking about this kiss?" He purrs, his voice low and deep, as his body leans in toward me, forcing me to lean backward as if fleeing from him until my ass rests on his desk, and his hands drop on each side, caging me in.
I am quickly surrounded by his masculine scent, giving me a heady feeling. I couldn't speak even if my life depended on it. All the saliva in my mouth decided to take a trip south, leaving my mouth parched.
"How bad do you want it?" He teased, taking the soft lobe of my ear between his teeth.
So bad! I cried in my mind, while stifling the gasp that threatened to escape when he bit down gently on my lip.
"Say it," he whispers again in my ear.
I lean back to catch his eyes, my face full of confusion amidst the lust gleaming from their depths. What does he want me to say?
"Beg me to kiss you," he demands, his voice deep and husky.
I shiver as his sexy voice washes over me, my eyes fluttering closed, chest rising and falling with the intensity of my rising desire.
"Please!" I whisper, my voice a little breathy. Between my legs is on fire, and the only way I can suppress the lust burning deep in my lower abdomen is to clench my thighs together.
He doesn't smirk, doesn't gloat at my request, his eyes darken, almost black with the heat of his lust, his eyes staring at me like he wants to consume me whole, before his head bends, and he claims my lips like it is his favorite possession.
He kisses me deeply and passionately, leaving me breathless and craving more, and when he stops and looks into my eyes, my heart leaps at the intensity of the emotions reflected there. Looking into his eyes feels like staring into the depths of a raging volcano about to erupt.
"I want you so bad," he purrs against the skin of my neck, causing me to shiver. His hands roam over my body, but he doesn't touch where I crave him the most. When his hand crept toward my pants, I quickly caught his hand and stopped him.
My anxiety began to rise again.
He looks at me with questions in his eyes, demanding answers I can't give him, and what made it so pathetic is that he wasn't even angry at my denial, just plain interested in knowing why I keep denying him.
At this moment, I am tempted to tell him, to hurl my past at him, and demand to know why he did what he did five years ago, and why he is acting like he doesn't remember.
I couldn't. Telling him wouldn't make any difference. He wouldn't pay for what he did to me, and I want him to pay. It doesn't matter how I feel right now; he has to pay for what he did to me years ago.
I move out of his grip, creating a distance between us. I shut down, putting my walls up, and stared at him coldly. "I don't think we should be doing this," I tell him with steel in my voice.
Ryan holds me captive with his gaze, his emotions hidden. "Why?" He demands.
A knock on the door saves me from replying. It's a delivery person.
"Come in," Ryan barks at him after we exchange confused looks. Neither of us was expecting a delivery.
The door handle turns, and the door opens to reveal an average-looking man in gray jeans and a matching T-shirt, his light brown curls obscured by a baseball cap. In his hand, he carries the biggest bouquet I've ever seen, and they look so pretty.
My eyes dart to Ryan, wondering if he bought me flowers. My traitorous heart leaps at the thought, but my hopes are dashed when the guy asks for Ryan instead.
"Mr. Blackwell?" He looks in Ryan's direction.
"Yes," Ryan answers, wearing a skeptical expression.
"For you," the delivery guy steps forward to hand Ryan the large box of flowers.
Ryan doesn't move an inch to take the flowers from him; he stares at them as if he expects them to grow teeth and eat him.
It's hilarious to see. One would think he's never received flowers, or maybe he fears his masculinity will diminish if he accepts one.
I laugh, unintentionally, catching Ryan and the delivery guy's attention.
The delivery guy looks at me inquisitively, while Ryan narrows his eyes at me, clearly annoyed that I am laughing at his predicament.
"Give it to her," Ryan tells the delivery guy, with his head tilted toward me.
"Me!" I gawked at Ryan with bulging eyes.
He smirks and nods. "I have no use for flowers, but I hear ladies love them."
Not when they are as big as a kid's playhouse. I am not planning to start a flower shop.
Eager to offload the flowers, the delivery guy hurried to me and thrust the box into my hand, and I nearly stumbled from the weight.
"Please sign this." He goes back to Ryan, while I struggle under the heavy load of the flowers. Who is the crazy person who sent him this? I wondered in annoyance.
Ryan peered at me over the deliveryman's head as he signed the delivery sheet, and I could see him smirking at me.
I glared at him, and he winked, and immediately the anger in my chest drained away. Does he do it intentionally, knowing how dangerous his winks are?
After the deliveryman left, I approached Ryan's desk, intending to let down the freaking heavy flowers, but he stopped me.
"I believe those suit your office better," he says, with a hint of humor in his voice and a twinkle in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes at him, laughing at my expense, and lifted the flowers again and stormed out of his office.
In my cubicle, I slammed it down on my desk, not caring if the rough landing spoiled its aesthetic arrangement.
I huffed out a breath, pushing back a strand of hair that fell into my face, and that is when something fell off the box and landed on my feet.
I bent and picked up the small white cardboard with something written on it.
Probably from whoever sent the flowers.
'You can't escape me. You are mine forever. M.'
I narrowed my eyes at the single bold letter, knowing immediately who the flowers came from.
Desperate much, I snorted, marveling at people's inability to accept a NO.
The telephone on my desk rings, startling me, and I jump ten feet high toward the ceiling.