Jordan

A driver in a town car took us home from the airport. It was late afternoon and we both had to be at work early the next morning. I’d resolved to stick to my guns, meaning no more sexual contact with April once we returned to the country. What happened in Canada stayed in Canada—at least I hoped it would.

I was more than a little worried because I was already starting to crave the smell of her hair, the feel of that soft skin at the small of her back, the taste of her neck and earlobes. The feel of her thighs wrapped around me.

Christ. I watched her as she worked, bent over her laptop. The car inched down the 405 freeway on the drive from LAX in rush-hour traffic. I faked checking my phone. I had a shit-ton of emails to go through, but I couldn’t concentrate on work right now.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t stay to enjoy the rest of the conference,” she said without looking up from her screen.

I supposed I could have taken in some of the talks, but I would have loved enjoying her for a few more days even more. Because honestly, our time together had been fucking amazing. I couldn’t get enough of her. I sure as hell hadn’t gotten enough of her.

“So, uh…” I said, clearing my throat.

She looked up from her laptop and fixed her dark blue eyes on me. “Yes?”

“Are we cool?”

Her brows pushed together. “You mean, do I know my place? Oh, Mr. Fawkes, I’ve never forgotten it.”

My lips thinned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Are you worried I’m going to rat you out? Because—”

I scowled. “I didn’t mean that either.”

She smiled. “Then I guess you’d better tell me what you mean.”

“I hope you don’t feel used or anything like that…that you understand why…”

She sighed and turned her head, looking out the window at the same time she closed her laptop. “I understand. You don’t have to say anything more about it.”

“So tomorrow at the office…”

“Business as usual. I’ve got it.”

I swallowed. I didn’t particularly like the idea myself. And if circumstances were different… Maybe after her internship, when she was no longer working for me, I’d ask her out. Or had too much dirty water gone under the bridge for that?

We rode along in tense silence before she shifted, leaning toward me conspiratorially. “Don’t you think it might be better if…”

“What?”

“Well, I’m just thinking about the video. There’s always a danger of our identities getting out, right?”

I said nothing but was quite sure I didn’t like the direction she was taking.

“What if we warned Adam about it? Just in case things flare up again? You guys could devise a plan and have it ready to head off a PR situation if it arises. And if you go to Adam, then it might not be as bad as if it came out some other way.”

I was silent for a long time. She was feeling guilty. Only natural, and it wasn’t like I didn’t feel like shit about it, too. Maybe her suggestion made sense on some level, but most of me just wanted to believe that this had died down forever.

“I understand what you are getting at, but you don’t know Adam like I do. He’d pop blood vessels if he found out. It would be messy.”

“Aren’t you afraid that it will get out, though?”

“Not really.” I shrugged. It was a total lie. She stared at me with narrowed eyes and I tried not to sweat it.

“I just know in my gut that if he had that info—”

“Let me handle it.”

“Does that mean you’re going to tell him?”

“No. It means I’m going to handle it. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

She frowned. “That’s a lot easier said than done. I worry about it all the time.”

I couldn’t resist. I stroked her soft hair. “Don’t. I’ll take care of it.”

But she still looked doubtful, worried. Suddenly, her head was on my shoulder and it was hard to breathe. This unfamiliar feeling of fierce protectiveness overwhelmed me. I wanted to take care of it—take care of her. Ridiculous thought, I knew, because she was capable of doing that herself. But…

What were these feelings she was drawing out in me? I leaned my head against hers for maybe a second before that feeling just grew heavier and more uncomfortable in my chest. It was too hard to think or feel anything else but her. Slowly, I pulled away, though it was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.