Behind the Scenes(36)

I swallow hard. It’s difficult to just keep my eyes open. My head is swimming and my knees have gone weak. I force myself to lift my gaze to his.

He looks down at me, but like they so often are, his eyes are unreadable. After a moment, he turns and walks a short distance away, putting space between us. I stay rooted to one spot. I can still feel the world spinning and the universe expanding and contracting. What this man does to me isn’t fair in the least bit.

What happened to “if you’re interested I’m here?” Did he just try to hit on me again and then change his mind all in five seconds? Is he trying to drive me insane?

When he comes back to me, his face is blank. “We should go. It’s almost rush hour.”

“Yeah.” Disappointment and relief make the word soft.

We keep a careful distance all the way through the tunnel and down the trail. The parking lot is half empty, but the sun striking off the remaining cars is brutal. He doesn’t go to open the passenger’s door for me this time. I don’t know what made him think he needed to do it before, but the gesture is kind of missed. It made me feel like I was anything but his assistant, if only for a minute.

I let some of the trapped and sweltering air escape from the car before climbing in. Mr. Mulroney rolls down the windows and starts the AC. I buckle my seat belt, pulling the strap taut for good measure.

Suddenly, his palm is against the back of my neck. I never sensed him reaching over, but he’s there, the softness of his fingers pressing lightly beneath my hair line. I whip my eyes over to him. His pupils are wide, staring me down.

Acting of its own accord, my face gravitates towards his, but he pulls his hand away and purses his lips. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

His regret comes as a surprise. Then again, surprises are starting to become the norm around him. He didn’t apologize for being so forward, and I know I should do the right thing and say his slip up is all right.

But I’m not having any of that. Swiftly unbuckling my seat belt, I lean forward and press my palm against his chest. His lips are soft and accepting, pushing back against mine as soon as I touch my mouth to his.

His scent fills me up and covers the air around me until there is nothing else but him. His hands go up to my head, winding their way through my hair. His mouth opens wider, and I shift more of my weight forward. My head bumps against the top of the roof, but I don’t stop kissing him.

A voice speaks up in my head, shouting at me to stop before it’s too late — before I do something I’ll regret — but I shoot it down. What’s happening is beyond stopping. I’ve given myself over to what I’ve been dying for. I’m liberating my soul; setting myself free from the constant need to get a taste of what I thought I couldn’t have.

One of his hands leaves the back of my head to press against my lower back. My skin sparks where he touches me, even though there’s a layer of clothes between our bodies. The sensation swirls down into my core, lighting me on fire.

His tongue runs over my teeth and his hands grasp me tighter, the fabric of my shirt bunching between his fingers. Both hands come to my lower back, urging me forward into his lap.

My heart beats wildly, and it’s not just the passion of the moment that has me going. I’m fucking terrified. Here we are, making out in his car — and where can it possibly go from there?

Will we have frenzied car sex in a parking lot, then go back to work and act like it never happened?

I’ll be calling him “Mr. Mulroney” and saying, “Yes, sir,” for many years to come, all the while thinking of what it was like having him inside of me.

This shit is messed up.

“Oh my God,” I moan into his mouth. I pull back and collapse, my shoulder painfully banging against the passenger’s side window.

He’s frozen, staring at me with wide eyes and lips rubbed red.

Was I really kissing him that hard?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Oh my God.”

“I want to.” His voice is husky and just the sound of it nearly does me in. I almost catapult myself back over the divide between the seats and tear his clothes off with my teeth.

But as hard as I tried to convince myself, this afternoon isn’t a movie. It’s not a scene separate from the rest of the day. We’ll go back to the office and sooner or later he’ll turn into the same person he always does. Though he apologized, it’s like that story about the scorpion and the frog. Sooner or later he’ll sting simply because it’s his nature.

“I want to,” he says again.

“I don’t.” I’m near tears, the need and the reality tearing me in half.