“I’m sorry, Philip. I already asked him to go to the benefit with me. I can’t uninvite him. More than that, I don’t want to. I’m obsessed with him.”
A stubborn look crossed Philip’s face. “Obsessions pass.”
“Not for me, they don’t.”
“I assure you he’s just a phase. You’re not in love,” he said with certainty.
Her lips parted. Love? Was that what this feeling was?
Was she in love with Michael?
“How can you be so sure it’s not love?” she asked.
“I know because I’m the one you’re going to fall in love with. Me,” he insisted.
“Philip, don’t do this, whatever this is.”
“You need to give us a try.”
With that, he stepped forward and bent toward her.
She tried to back away, but her car was right behind her, preventing escape. She turned her face to the side. He didn’t wear overpowering cologne, but his smell was wrong. She pushed her hands against his chest. The feel of him was wrong. He wasn’t Michael.
He touched his lips to hers. Dry skin on dry skin. A wet tongue slimed into her mouth, and her heart skittered. Her body went into lockdown. It was like her first three encounters all over again.
Wrong wrong wrong.
She twisted away and dragged her sleeve over her mouth. Dirty, black feelings grated over her skin, inside and out.
Philip grimaced and set his jaw, fisted his hands. “You just have to get used to me, Stella. You acclimated to that bastard.”
She shoved at his chest, pushing him away. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Heart pounding and hands shaking, she got in her car. By the time she reached the shop, she’d mostly calmed down, but that unclean feeling persisted. She wanted to brush her teeth.
Inside, she located Michael kneeling in the fitting area at an older gentleman’s feet, pinning the hem of his pants. Michael wore jeans and a black T-shirt. Measuring tape, pincushion, and chalk pencil were in place. She loved him in work clothes. He must have dressed similarly when he designed in New York City, sketching patterns over lighted architect tables and draping cloth over ungrateful mannequins.
As if sensing her, he glanced up, caught sight of her, and smiled.
She started to return his smile, but the bad taste in her mouth reminded her of what had happened in the parking lot. What if Michael kissed her now? She’d get Philip all over him. Disgusting. “Bathroom. I need the bathroom.”
He stood up with a troubled frown. “Back there.”
She ran into the back, spotted the door to the bathroom, and rushed to the sink. After turning on the water, she soaped her hands and scrubbed at her lips and her tongue. She splashed water into her mouth, swished, spit, repeated over and over.
* * *
• • •
Michael opened the bathroom door and watched as Stella rinsed out her mouth like she’d eaten something nasty. Was she sick? His insides twisted as his mind automatically jumped to the worst-case scenarios he was far too familiar with.
The door swung shut behind him as he closed the distance between them and swept his hands down her tense back. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Please, be okay.
For several long moments, the room was silent but for the rush of the water in the sink. A deep frown creased her brow as she watched the water swirl around the drain. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she cranked the water off and said, “A coworker kissed me.”
Everything inside Michael stilled, and a cold rage spread outward. With the training he did, he wasn’t the kind of person who could pick fights. But he could sure as fuck end them. He would enjoy ending this one. His knuckles cracked as he fisted his hands.
“What’s his name? What does he look like? Where can I find him?” The questions came out in a hard monotone. The motherfucker was going to enjoy himself a trip to the hospital.
She whipped around to face him, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“No one forces you, Stella.”
“Are you planning to do something to him? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“You just washed your mouth out for a whole minute. Now I’m going to wash his out.” With blood.
She wrung her hands as she searched for words. “I’m okay. As you can see.”
“If you weren’t okay, he’d be a dead man,” he growled.
“Can you drop this? Please?”
He shook his head in disbelief. Someone had touched her, kissed her, stuck his fucking tongue in her mouth. “How can you be so calm about this? Did you want him to kiss you?”
“No, but . . .” She looked away from him. “Maybe there was a time when I did.”
A horrible thought entered his head. “Is he the reason you hired me? You wanted to practice for this guy?”
Her cheeks flushed with color. “M-maybe? He seemed like a good candidate at the time. But I don’t want him anymore, which is ironic because—” She stopped talking with a grimace.
“Because what?”
“He told me today he’s liked me for a long time, that—surprise—I’m a ten for him.” She sent him a searching gaze as she said, “He told me he doesn’t care about how different I am.”
He couldn’t stop himself from dragging her against his chest then. He hadn’t said those things, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel them. “That’s because you are a ten. All the things that make you different make you perfect.”
“I’m not perfect, Michael. I’m really not,” she said in a pained voice.
“Did you kiss him back?” At this point, that was the only thing that could make her imperfect for him. Maybe not even that.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did you like it? When he kissed you?” Because he had to know.
“Not at all,” she whispered.
“Why? Did he do it wrong? Was he a bad kisser?”
“It felt wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because he wasn’t you.” The soft look in her eyes killed him. He would do anything for that look. Anything.
He angled her head back with a hand against her jaw, trying to be gentle despite the violence raging in his veins. “Going to kiss you.” He had to. If he didn’t, he would go crazy.
“Don’t. He’s in my mouth. I can still taste him. I can’t get him out.”
He released a fierce growl. “I need this, Stella.”
At her small nod, he crushed their mouths together and kissed her deeply. He needed to erase every last trace of that piece of shit, needed to mark her as his. She went weak and sank into him, and he closed his arms around her, stroking her roughly.
“Can you still taste him?” he rasped against her lips.
“No,” she said on a gasp.
He worked her skirt open and slipped his hand into her panties, almost groaning from the liquid heat that met his fingers. Who was that for? Him or her coworker?
“Michael.”
His name on her lips soothed a place deep inside him, and the urgent need to hear it again and again claimed him. He pushed her skirt until it pooled around her ankles and ripped the fly of his jeans open, freeing his cock. Then, he dug a foil from his pocket, tore it open, and rolled the condom on.
When she began to lower her panties, he shook his head. He looped one of her legs around his hip as he lifted and pressed her against the tile wall.
She made an impatient sound. “Don’t tease me, Michael. I need you.”
He pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and thrust hard and fast, burying himself inside her. Her breath broke, and she moaned his name. So fucking hot. He stroked his tongue over every inch of her mouth, claiming it as he angled his hips to hit her clit.
The tight grip of her body, her sweet mouth, her legs around him, her breaths on his neck—perfection. He reveled in every part of Stella. His heart thundered, and his blood rushed. His need grew desperate, but he held back, determined to wait for her. When she shattered and convulsed around him uncontrollably, he pumped into her harder.
He grasped at her hips, her thighs, pressed their foreheads together so he could see into her beautiful, dazed eyes and drove into her one last time, letting everything that he was pour into her, losing himself. As the breaths sawed in and out of his chest, he held her tight. He never wanted to let her go.