I thought back to the moment I’d touched her. The way she’d responded to me, the soft moans and cries as she’d fought to keep herself from being too loud. How she’d buried her face in my shoulder. The way she’d moved, the way she’d breathed. The intensity of her climax. It had intoxicated me. That was the moment I knew it would be impossible to get her out of my blood.

That night I’d sent her home in a car, still burning for her. I’d worked through the night, trying to get that temporary obsession out of my brain. Fighting to convince myself that it was temporary. But here we were, five months later, and I was every bit as hooked on her now as I was then.

I grabbed her, leaning forward, and lifted us off the chair, settling her back on my desk as I pushed into her in earnest. She curled her legs around me, pressing against me. And I pushed into her one last time, my orgasm ripping through me in sharp, intense waves.

I waited a long moment after we were done to reach down between us and finish her. She looked up at me with a languid smile and those gorgeous brown eyes, tightening her legs around me as I stroked her. When she came, her back arched and she pushed her beautiful breasts upward.

I could watch her come over and over again. It was a thing of raw beauty. But I forced myself to stop, to pull my hand away. When she sat up, we kissed. She hooked her hands around my neck and laughed. “We do do everything good.”

Afterward, she set a plate of her cookies on my desk and went to pull down the Murphy bed from the wood cabinet and fluffed my pillows. And when I thought she’d collect the dishes and go home as I sat at my desk and revised my official statement before sending it off for approval, she surprised me by curling up on the bed and falling asleep instead.

I joined her after midnight.

***

For the rest of that week, I was in survival mode. I didn’t allow myself time to think. Time to reflect. I couldn’t allow myself to think about that young man’s family and the debris his destructive actions had left behind.

To be accused of creating a means for addiction—well, it was personal to me. It cut me to the bone. Because of my history, my own dance with addiction in those closest to me and in myself. I kept it inside like a gremlin, imprisoned under lock and key. But it held the potential to transform into a monster. And there was just a tiny mental gate between who I was and who I could become, immersing myself completely in that world, smothering myself with work to numb the pain.

And I was all too aware of it. Always.

We held a brief press conference (took no questions) and released a statement of condolence to the families. I took no responsibility for what was not my responsibility to take. It was a horrific week, but once the press got hold of another story—an uprising in a small Middle Eastern country that threatened to start yet another war—our lives started to calm down.

That weekend the two of us resolved to stay in, take it easy. Live quietly before the next week would come crashing down on us again. It was hard to let go and back away from work, but as I’d known she would, Emilia kept me on the straight and narrow.

After a quiet lunch, I went out for a run in the late afternoon. I preferred to run outdoors while the weather was still good. Emilia would have come with me, but her friends, Alex and Jenna, showed up with a big bag of her mail from her old apartment and she’d begged off.

I loved running with Emilia, but without her, I could go farther and faster and it was exactly what I needed to help clear my head. An hour later, I returned to a shrieking girlfest that I could have done without.

Alex squeaked at a very high pitch, her arms wrapped around Emilia’s shoulders. Jenna just had her hands on her cheeks, her pale eyes as huge as silver dollars. Something had happened. Emilia was flushed and shaking.

I tensed, immediately going into protective mode. What had happened? My eyes flew to the pile of opened mail on the table in front of them. Bad news?

I was sweaty from my run, but I didn’t care. “Emilia? You okay?”

Alex peeled away from Emilia to turn and come toward me at a run. I backed off and held out a hand. “Sweaty,” I said, but it was more to avoid the awkward moment. Alex was always throwing herself at me and it was weird how Emilia either took no notice or wasn’t bothered by it. Frankly, I didn’t have the patience to deal with Alex. I wanted to know if Emilia was okay.

Alex bobbed up and down on her tiptoes in my line of vision. “She’s more than okay, Adam! She’s—”

“Alejandra!” Jenna interrupted. “Let Mia tell him, please.”

My eyes locked on Emilia’s. She sent me a tremulous smile. Okay, so it wasn’t bad. I let out a breath, relaxed my shoulders and waited.