Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and let the hot, angry breath evacuate her lungs.
What
an
asshole.
“Remember we're trying to economize,” she mimicked, using a fake, mocking voice. As if she didn't know that. As if she weren't single-handedly responsible for cutting overhead for the advertising department by thirty percent last year. Something Dave had praised but that hadn't helped her get the job she'd been so focused on.
Matt's words morphed in her head, blending with his lush lips, those strong hands she imagined on her, that washboard –
“And get me a real cup of coffee.” Out of nowhere, as if conjured by bad magic, his voice was in her ear, startling her, the door opening as she leaned against it. As her upper body tilted backwards her feet flew out from under her, Matt saving her with one arm snaking around her ribs, the other behind her knee, his quads working overtime to keep them both in balance, palm splayed against her breast, a fingertip landing squarely on her nipple.
Seeking her center of gravity, her body pressed into his chest, face just under his chin as he stabilized them. Ah, he smelled even better than she remembered, her earlier whiffs of musk and cologne now full aromas that filled her with a cloud of pure man. Inhaling, she took in his scent, her mind forgetting why she was in his arms. Not caring why, actually.
Wanting more.
“Ahem,” he said, half-word, half a throat clearing. Their eyes locked and again she was drawn to the verdant green, how brown his hair was, a glint of silver at the temples today. Pushed against his body, her shoulder and ass could feel how rock-hard his abs really were, body a wall of muscle that began to move to right her. He wasn't in a hurry, though, and was she imagining that he was drinking in her scent, too? The way he tilted his head at her neck and took a deep breath made her wonder.
Not wonder – hope. Were those arm muscles so taut not because he was supporting her as he put her back on her feet but because he was working hard to restrain himself? Could the heat emanating from his chest as she twisted, pushing one hand against him to stand, come from desire? As her face flushed and her stomach fluttered, their eyes connected.
Intense and serious, Matt's chest expanded and contracted, their breathing in sync, unrushed but at a near-pant, attraction asserting itself – like it or not.
Oh, how her body liked it, her hand reluctant to pull back, to stop feeling the heat of him, to end the flesh connection.
What was she doing?
“What are you doing?” Matt echoed her thoughts, a quizzical frown on his face.
“I was just, uh,” she stammered. Think, Lydia. Think! “I was leaning against the door to fix my shoe, and you opened it, and then...abs.” And then abs? AND THEN ABS? Did she really just say that?
“Abs.” A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth, the outer edge of his eyes, little folds making him suddenly look younger, tousled, casual and free. An extraordinary shift from his uptight, alpha-male self, the effect was disconcerting. Intoxicating, even. More like she remembered him in her apartment, casual and kind.
“Abs....olutely! I absolutely fell over.” Lame, lame, lame, and they both knew it, but Lydia would take lame over aroused and mortified any day.
He just nodded, backed out the door, and whispered, “Black.”
“What?”
“I like my coffee black. And, preferably, with water in it.” As he closed the door and she swore she heard him chuckle, the sound a rich baritone of genuine emotion that made her just find him more appealing.
Oooooo! That man.
Two minutes later she set a cup of coffee on the ground in front of his closed door. Two tablespoons of coffee grounds with cold water mixed in. She returned to her desk and sent him an email:
Dear Matt,
Your coffee is outside your door.
Best,
Lydia
Seething, she opened a new window on her computer screen. Economize? A trip to Detroit, huh?
Oh, she'd show him how well she could economize.
“Jeremy?” Fingers flying fast on her keyboard, she looked up to see a familiar face. He grinned, and she smiled back, instantly comfortable and casual. Some quality in him did that; it was hypnotic.
“Lydia! You remember me?” He seemed simultaneously surprised and nonchalant, dressed today in a nice tan polo, jeans, and Chuck Taylor tennis shoes.
Way better that the Beetlejuice getup from the ball.
“You're kind of hard to forget.” She held her hand up to indicate his height.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his face animated and – was she imagining it? – a bit overly-fake. His hair was a mess of waves and those soft, brown eyes invited her to smile.
“I work here!” she answered, smiling. “What are you doing here?”
That stopped him cold in his tracks. “My friend M – uh, Matt works here.” Gazing at her, he added, “Your eyes really are speckled – the colors are intoxicating.”
Pulse racing, she held his look. Familiar warmth flooded her belly, clit beginning its light cha-cha-cha of arousal. No! You're attracted to Matt, her mind chided. No! You're attracted to no one, the feminist in her roared. Career over clit.
“You know Matt?” she whispered, finally breaking a growing tension she couldn't name, but that felt a hell of a lot like extreme attraction. What was a high roller like Jeremy doing hanging out with Matt, of all people? Maybe there was more to her knew boss than she'd suspected. The resemblance to Michael Bournham was uncanny. Her earlier suspicions that he was related roared back.
Lydia stood and beckoned Jeremy to come closer, which he did, a lascivious grin on his face. This guy didn't hide his attraction, and it was quite pleasant, oddly enough. Nothing condescending or creepy. He struck her as one of those rare guys who simply enjoyed women.