Thursday I’d run down to my station, dodging rain and knee-deep puddles. By the time I’d gotten there and stood waiting for my train, I was wet and miserable and not concentrating hard enough to notice anyone or anything.
That’s how I’d ended up falling down half a flight of stairs and broken my left arm. Pain is not something I deal with in any kind of acceptable fashion, so when I’d snapped back to reality at the bottom of the concrete steps, I’d cried like a child and sputtered my way onto the train despite needing to go to the emergency room.
When I’d gotten home my arm had looked like ham, and Chris had gone into hysterics, which meant Josey had to stay over while we got Mr Clinton downstairs to drive us to the hospital.
Saturday had seen me stumbling around and loopy enough that when Gregory called, I’d let Nana take it and fallen onto the sofa to watch old reruns of Friends.
Funnier when you’re loopy. A lot funnier.
Sunday I’d waited for him to call all day, and I have to be honest enough that when he hadn’t, it had hurt.
Now I’m back in the office, and it’s ten and he still isn’t back. Dammit.
“Thanks a lot, A-hole. Get me to like you and then don’t call. Just like a man,” I mutter as I pack another box and grab the tape to seal it.
“I didn’t call because I thought you needed the rest. Besides, Nana told me not to bug you while you were ‘under the influence’ in case you said something you’d regret.”
I jump to my feet at those words and spin around to see him leaning against the doorframe of our joined offices, his pose casual.
“Like what?” I ask, striving for a calm I do not feel.
I want to jump him and kiss the hell out of him. Instead I mirror his casual pose, leaning a hip against my desk, and watch his lips twitch with amusement.
“Well, she said, and I quote, ‘Hannah is a very loving person and would never have sexual intercourse with a man she doesn’t have feelings for.’ Or something along those lines.”
Nana is so going to another home if she can’t keep her opinions to herself.
“Well, what Nana thinks she knows and what’s true aren’t necessarily exclusive,” I aver, watching him prowl toward me.
“What the hell happened to you?”
I shrug and allow him to pull me into his office, gratified to hear the snick of the lock turning. Making out with my boss, at work no less, is not a good idea, but I pull his head down and kiss him anyway, putting all the pent-up desire and longing I feel into it.
I’ve missed him, and waiting another moment to feel his passion is not an option. Our tongues meet, and he’s kissing me back, taking control of the kiss, ravaging my mouth desperately.
I pull back, sucking in air, and stare at him, drinking in his loss of control and the wild look I’ve never seen before.
“Jesus, I missed you,” he says, cupping my face to bring me closer.
Our breaths mingle, our mouths are so close, and I feel the urge to bite him, lick at him, anything just to still the fierce ache of lust coiling in my belly.
When I lean in to do just that, he pecks my lips and firmly sets me away. His eyes lose that heat I crave, and I flinch when he curses and takes my injured arm, turning me to inspect the bruise at my temple and then dropping to his knees to lift my skirt and look at my knees.
“You look like hell,” he growls, coming back to his feet.
“Gee, thanks. What happened to you missing me?”
So sue me. I’m frustrated and unhappy. Whereas I want nothing more than to throw him to the sofa and lick him from head to toe, and then some other parts in between, he’s only interested in cataloguing my injuries.
“Be serious, Han. What the hell happened to you?” he mutters.
I shift away and walk to the sofa, shrugging slightly as I sit down.
“A very bad week, apparently. Thursday some schmo almost jostled me onto the tracks, and then Friday I took a header down the subway steps. It was raining, and apparently I am not the most graceful of beings in the rain.”
So humiliating to admit I can’t walk for shit when it’s raining.
“You fell twice on the subway?” he asks skeptically. “That seems coincidental.”
I snort and lean back.
“Nope. I am the epitome of clumsiness, unfortunately. Are you about done with the inspection?” I ask, fiddling with the top button of my blouse.
His lips twitch and he leans back against his desk, his eyes lowering suggestively.
“Why?”
I answer by flicking the button open and progressing down to the next one.
“Oh, I thought we could…” I let the thought peter off and keep going until I am bare from the neck down, the black bra he’d sent me last week pushing my breasts up in an enticing display.