One quiet step at a time, I sneak my way up. The left side leads to another sitting area, and it has the telltale signs that he actually uses this one. The leather sofa has wear marks; there’s a giant flat-screen TV, and a couple of books on the nightstand.
He’s not in here, so I tiptoe silently to the right, where there’s a door open just a crack. It feels like a massive invasion of privacy, but I can’t help myself.
Stepping up to the sliver between the door and the frame, I spot his back as he sits on a workout bench, his feet on the floor. So this is how he keeps up that perfect body. It looks like he’s turned a spare bedroom into his own personal gym. There are weights, a treadmill, a huge contraption meant for who knows.
And Emerson is shirtless.
Tan skin stretched over muscular shoulders grab my attention and won’t let go. Judging by the way his elbows rest on his knees and his head hangs low, Emerson is deep in thought, and something about that bothers me. Like the day I knelt by his side and eased his stress, I want to take it away now.
“Knock, knock,” I say, tapping on the door.
He spins and gazes at me with a guarded look of concern written on his face.
“You disappeared,” I whisper, stepping into the room. “I didn’t even know you had this up here.”
He grabs a towel and brushes it against his sweaty brow. Still sitting away from me, he replies, “I had to work out some…aggression.”
After our encounter at the desk, he had to come work out to let off some steam?
Walking over to where he’s sitting, I lean against the mirror on the wall and stare at him.
“You know…” I say with a teasing smile. “You could always work out some of that aggression on me.”
His head hangs as I let out a laugh. “Jesus, Charlotte.”
“Come on, it’s a joke,” I reply, stepping toward him. Then his hand latches around my thigh and he holds me close to him. I don’t breathe for a moment as I rest my hands on his shoulders.
“You make everything a joke, don’t you?”
I shrug. “I find it makes things easier that way.”
“It doesn’t make anything easier for me,” he grumbles lowly.
His hand strokes the back of my leg as I stand between his knees. His touch is like fire, sending a thrill through my body. This forbidden contact isn’t just crossing the line—we’re pretending that line doesn’t exist. And I lean into his touch to send home the message that I want—no, I need—more.
“I filled out the form,” I whisper.
“Good,” he replies.
“You should know I marked a few zeroes.”
He lets out a deep chuckle. “A few?”
“Yeah. No shame to those who like the golden shower thing…but not for me.”
I’m keeping the mood light because everything else about this moment is tense.
“Good to know,” he mumbles.
He’s still holding me close, and as my hands drift along his shoulders, I realize that Emerson and I have grown close since I started working with him. But this is first time we’ve really touched each other like this.
“Is there any use trying to avoid this?” His head tips back, and he stares up at me as he pulls me closer, and I realize he’s about to kiss me. The fingers of his hand drift higher and higher up my thigh. “Because I gotta tell you, Charlotte. I’m a little tired of trying.” I interlock my fingers behind his neck and squeeze him closer. At this angle, I’m so close, I could kiss him if I wanted to, and I want to.
“Then, stop trying.”
My face leans in, and Emerson’s eyes close, squeezing me tighter. Then just before my lips touch his, the doorbell rings.
We open our eyes and stare at each other.
“Expecting someone?” I ask.
His brows furrow as he pulls out his phone and opens the front door security camera. Then he looks as if he’s seen a ghost, jumping up from the bench, practically pushing me away.
“Who is it?” I ask.
He stares at me with wide eyes. “It’s Beau.”
RULE #21: WHEN POSSIBLE, REMOVE THE TEMPTATION.
Emerson
I’ve never put my shirt on so fast in my life. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? The internal reasoning as to why I should not ever touch Charlotte in that way has slowly deteriorated over time. And just as I was about to give in and do what I’ve wanted to do for the past two months, Beau literally comes knocking.
Charlotte is behind me as we reach the bottom floor. She fixes her skirt and heads over to her desk to try and act natural as I open the door.