He kissed his way down her throat, toying with the buttons on her silky top. Bailey’s eyes were closed, her lips parted. More than anything he wanted to bend her over his desk and take her hard and fast. Lust wrapped his brain in a red haze. His hands trembled as he found his way past her blouse to her breasts covered in lace.
Each soft mound was a full, perfect weight in his hand. He squeezed gently, shuddering when Bailey’s low moan went straight to his gut and stoked the fire. He was rapidly reaching the point of no return. The problem with long bouts of celibacy was that a man tended to go a little insane when the woman he wanted was in touching distance.
“Tell me to stop,” he pleaded.
Her hands tore at the lapels of his jacket. He helped her remove it and tossed it aside. He was burning up from the inside out.
“Touch my skin,” she pleaded.
How could he say no? Each delicate nipple furled tightly as he stroked her with reverence. He lifted her onto the desk. Now he could reach her with his mouth. Shoving aside the gossamer cups of her bra, he first licked her, then suckled her, growing more and more hungry with every second that passed.
Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “Bailey. Bailey...” He didn’t even know what he wanted to say.
“Gil,” her voice was little more than a whisper.
He inhaled sharply, close to begging. “What?”
“I think we have to stop. I don’t want to, but we’re at the club.”
“At the club?” He could barely make sense of the words. He needed to be inside her more than he needed to breathe.
She shoved him, her two hands braced on his shoulders. “Stop, Gil. Please.”
At last her protest penetrated the fog that bound him. He staggered backward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It hurt to look at her. He leaned against the file cabinet, burying his face in his arm. Agony ripped through him. He had caged the tiger that was his lust for too long, and now the animal was free.
Seconds passed. Minutes. He sucked in great lungfuls of air, desperately trying to regain control. Behind him he heard rustling sounds as Bailey adjusted her clothing.
When her hand touched his back, he jerked. “Don’t,” he groaned. “Not if you want me to leave.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she said quietly. “But for now, you have to. I’m sorry.”
He whirled around. “Sorry for what?”
Her eyes were huge and dark. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Neither did I. At least not right now.” He had never been as torn as he was at this moment. Everything inside him insisted he lock the door and make her his. But he dared not. Not for her sake, and not with his son in the same building. “We’ll talk...tonight...when Cade is in bed. I’ll call you and we’ll make plans.”
Her gaze searched his. “I’d like that very much.”
Five
Gil didn’t call that night. Bailey took his silence stoically, though deep inside her, a little kernel of excitement shriveled. Clearly, Gil’s second thoughts about getting involved had trumped his momentary sexual need. She could understand his reluctance. He was not free to follow every whim or passing fancy.
In the cold light of reason, he had probably weighed the risks and benefits of getting involved with her and decided it was too risky. It hurt that he hadn’t bothered to call and tell her straight up that he had changed his mind, but perhaps he’d been busy with Cade.
As much as it pained her to admit it, Gil’s about-face was probably for the best. Bailey had her own doubts. She’d never been a rule-breaker, and though it wasn’t technically illegal or even unethical for her to have a personal relationship with Gil, it was at the very least unwise.
She needed to be able to rely on him as a source of information in her investigation. If he ended up in a position of having to defend one of his friends against her accusations, the situation could get ugly fast. No matter how much she responded to Gil physically, it was better for everyone if she ignored the needs of her body and her heart and focused on doing her job.
The following morning, she and Gil met at the club as they had the day before. Only this time, Gil still had Cade in tow. Not by word or expression did Gil evidence any memory of the heated interlude in his office the afternoon before. Bailey didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted, but she guessed he didn’t want to give anything away in front of his son.
Cade bounced up and down in his father’s grasp, finally breaking free long enough to wrap his arms around Bailey’s thighs in an exuberant hug. “Hey, Miss Bailey,” he said. “Are you going to eat lunch with us again?”