23. Wren

CHAPTER 23

Wren

B lane slid a plate in front of me and took a seat opposite. There would be no escape from the glorious view. Tentatively, I took a nibble of chicken. A little dry, but that was probably due to my efforts.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think that shirts should be made illegal.” What? I dropped the fork and clapped both hands over my mouth. “Sorry! I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” When Blane didn’t speak, I kept babbling. “These past few days, I’ve been feeling out of sorts. Off-kilter. And then I find myself waffling and doing things I wouldn’t normally dream of.” Such as hugging my boss. “I don’t quite understand why.”

“I don’t understand why either.”

“I can only apologise.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one sitting here without a shirt on.”

“Which is also my fault.”

Blane took another mouthful of assorted green stuff and chewed slowly. “How about we agree that this is an unprecedented situation, and due to the unusual circumstances, either one of us might inadvertently do something indecorous.”

“Indecorous? Do you secretly moonlight as a dictionary?”

“Too formal? Okay, strike out ‘do something indecorous’ and replace it with ‘act like an asshole.’ Better?”

“I guess.”

“And let’s also agree that if one of us should act like the aforementioned asshole, the other will raise the issue and permit the offender to rectify the position.”

“Okay.” That would give me some breathing space.

“I assume that suggesting you remove your shirt as well would fall into ‘asshole’ territory?”

My eyes rolled of their own accord, and so did my stomach. “Duh, yes.”

And also: holy hell.

My hotter-than-sin, wealthier-than-a-small-country boss was definitely flirting. I channelled Chandler from Friends . Could this be more inappropriate? Yes, it certainly could if I did as he suggested and removed said garment, and the fact that I was actually considering it made me facepalm.

“Then I apologise for being an asshole,” Blane said, although he didn’t sound sorry at all.

“It’s fine. Eat your vegetables.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Add “bizarrely adorable” to Blane’s list of qualities, or maybe that was the wine’s opinion? I tried desperately to change the subject.

“So, do you own any clothes that aren’t suits or dress shirts?”

Oh, well done, Wren. That was brilliant.

“Do boxer briefs count? ”

Heaven help me.

“Let’s skip the underwear.”

“Skip it as in, take it off?”

“No!” I thunked my head on the counter. “Keep all of your clothes on. I just meant, do you own a pair of jeans? A T-shirt? Sweats? What do you wear when you kick back and watch TV?”

“I don’t watch much TV. The real world is far more fascinating.”

“You’re totally missing the point of my question.”

“I do have shorts, and possibly a pair of jeans somewhere. But what’s wrong with the suits? I thought women liked men in suits.”

“Women do. They also like hot lumberjacks, men in grey sweatpants, and cowboys.”

“So you’re saying I should chop down trees and ride a horse in grey sweatpants?”

A vision popped into my head. “A horse in grey sweatpants? I guess you’d have to make sure it didn’t kick you when you helped it to dress.”

His forehead creased into a frown. “Why would I…? Oh. Right. Ambiguous phrasing, yes.”

“I’m just saying that casual pants might be more comfortable when you’re chilling at home. Or not. I mean, it’s up to you. Shirtless also works.”

Mental note: next time, change the subject to anything other than Blane’s clothing. Or the lack of it. Sheesh, the man could have his own calendar. Twelve months of suits. Winter through fall. Snowsuits, bathing suits, suit-suits…

“You want me to dress like a stripper? Cuffs, a bow tie, and Velcroed-on pants?”

“Can we stop talking about your clothing now?”

“You started it. ”

“I freaking know that. But a woman reserves the right to change her mind.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that before.”

“From one of your sisters?”

The atmosphere changed. Relaxed, jokey Blane disappeared, and his smile dropped.

“From my former girlfriend. She used to say it all the time.”

“I’m so sorry.” What was I meant to say in this situation? “Uh, was it a bad breakup?”

Yikes, now I was just being nosy.

“The worst.”

I forced a smile. “Well, I hope she doesn’t still live in Vegas.”

“She does, in a manner of speaking. At the Woodlawn Cemetery.”

Oh hell . All the life had been sucked out of the room, and Blane… Blane looked like death himself. This whole time, I’d assumed he was merely another douchebag player. I mean, I’d heard rumours of beautiful women following him into a suite at Tilt, only to re-emerge three hours later looking thoroughly dishevelled.

But underneath it all, he was grieving?

Pleasures of the flesh but not of the mind , Vee had once murmured in response to one of those rumours. At the time, I hadn’t understood what she meant, but now I thought I might. Blane was a red-blooded male who enjoyed sex, but his heart still belonged to the woman he’d lost. Was that the reason he never spent the night with any of his bed buddies?

My fork clattered to the plate. This time, it was my turn to offer a hug. I walked around the counter and wrapped him up in my arms, and there was that connection again. That strange, fuzzy thread of energy that made everything seem right. Did he feel it as well? I hoped he did. I wanted him to.

“I’m so, so sorry. Was it… Did it happen a long time ago?”

“Just over five years.” His voice came out croaky. “Seems like the blink of an eye.”

Five years ago, I’d still been making mistakes with Dom in Cheyenne, and it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then. But the bereaved worked to remember their loved ones. I’d done my best to scrub Dom’s smug face from my brain, but on a bad night, his scrawny ass thrusting away on top of his intern still haunted my dreams. I’d have gladly kicked him into hell if I could.

But there was no shrine in Blane’s apartment, not that I’d seen anyway. No pictures, no mementoes.

“I didn’t realise,” I murmured.

“How could you?”

“The staff usually gossip,” I said, and then wished I’d bitten my tongue.

“My relationship with Nevaeh was private. We had a place in the Arts District as well as this apartment, and she rarely came to work with me.”

Nevaeh. Blane’s voice had cracked on her name, and my heart broke too. What was I supposed to do in a situation like this? I’d experienced plenty of heartbreak, but not death. My losses had come with a different kind of hurt.

“Do you want me to give you some space?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Having you here is a balm to my soul.”

“You feel it too?”

Blane knew exactly what I was talking about. “Yes, and I can’t explain it.”

Well, that made two of us. Blane lifted me to straddle his lap, and I tucked my head against his shoulder. My heart beat wildly against my ribcage, and I felt the answering thud from his in return. How could something be so wrong and yet so right at the same time?

“What happens now?” I asked, and I wasn’t sure whether the question was directed at myself or at Blane.

“What do you want to happen?”

His amber eyes fixed on mine, dark fire flashing in their depths. I couldn’t tell him what I wanted. My head was a mess, my thoughts jumbled. And I was ashamed to admit that while he was confessing heartfelt truths about his late girlfriend, heat was pooling between my thighs.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in this position before.”

And his cock was right there . Thick and long and…wait, was it hardening?

Blane managed half a smirk. “Really? Then you’ve been missing out.”

His usual cockiness was missing, as if the innuendo came from habit rather than the heart. And it was true—I was in new territory. Not just sitting on a man’s lap, but on my boss’s lap. The boss I was staying with because my best friend had been kidnapped. His thumb stroked my back lightly, and the gesture was strangely comforting. There was heat between us, a smouldering flame that threatened to erupt, but he wasn’t acting like a horny jerk.

“This is inappropriate,” I blurted as I resisted the urge to squirm. Or grind. Semantics.

“Highly inappropriate,” he agreed, glancing down.

I followed his gaze, and if I’d been embarrassed before, now I was mortified. There was no hiding the damp patch on my yoga pants.

“Maybe I spilled something?”

Half a smirk turned into a tired smile. “That’s really the line you’re going with?”

I made one last attempt to put the brakes on my runaway brain. To stop the boulder from careening through my common sense.

“I’m not going to be another one of your three-hour girls.”

“Wren…” Blane’s hands moved from my waist to my upper arms. He held me gently. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s…evolving. I thought I was just going to help you find your friend, but…”

“But what?”

“But then I felt it.”

“Felt what?”

“ Everything. You were right under my nose the whole time, and I didn’t even realise.”

“I don’t?—”

Blane’s lips brushed across mine. And suddenly, I did. I did understand. Those smouldering coals flared into life, and a burst of heat surged through me. One touch of his lips— one —and my future flashed before my eyes. Blane was front and centre. The Lord of freaking Fire.

“Okay, I do. I do get it.”