5. Amelia

5

AMELIA

M y heart leaps into my throat when his lips land on mine, sending a shockwave of warmth coursing through my body. I want to pinch myself because I know that I must be dreaming. This can't be happening. It can't be real. A rush of disbelief mingles with exhilaration, making my head spin.

He smells of grease, a scent that has become so familiar from our long hours at the shop, mixed with the faint trace of whatever cologne he chose to wear this morning. That fragrance, now mingled with the essence of hard work and determination, clings to him, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. I want to fall into his embrace, to let go of all my worries and just be in this moment with him. But before I can succumb to that desire, I come to my senses and pull away, creating a painful distance that feels almost wrong.

"Jameson," I struggle to find the right words, my mind racing. How do I tell this sexy, older man that I'm not the right woman for him? The weight of my thoughts presses down on me, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. He doesn't have to give me a pity kiss to make me feel better. He doesn't have to say all these sweet and wonderful things to rebuild my confidence. I'll be fine, really. I just need to convince myself of that before I lose my nerve completely.

I look up at him and see those beautiful blue eyes staring back at me. They're full of emotion, strength, and longing, a deep ocean of feelings that I can't quite decipher. I wish he was genuinely looking at me like this, without the weight of reality looming over us. "Jameson, you can't do this. We can't do this. You're my boss, you're twice my age, you don't really feel whatever this is for me."

The words hurt as they exit my mouth, like shards of glass cutting through the tender fabric of my heart. I can feel them tugging at the strings of my emotions, and I feel sick just saying them. My stomach churns violently, and for a split second, I wonder if I'm going to vomit right here in front of him. I've fantasized about Jameson kissing me since the day I started working for him, replaying those moments in my mind when the shop was quiet, but now that it's happened, it doesn't feel real. It feels like a dream I'm not ready to wake up from.

His grip on my hands tightens, grounding me in this moment. "What are you talking about, baby girl? None of that matters. None of that is true." His voice is low and soothing, but it only amplifies the storm within me. I want to believe him, to let go of my fears and insecurities, but the reality of our situation looms large and suffocating.

I can feel the tears already starting to build, a tightness in my throat threatening to spill over, and I try desperately to blink them back. "But it does matter," I say, my voice quivering slightly, betraying the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface. Please, God, don't let me cry in front of him. I can't bear the thought of showing him my vulnerability, especially when everything feels so precarious.

"Why?" His tone shifts, fierce and angry, echoing off the walls of the small shop. "Why does me being your boss matter? Who cares?" His words cut through the air like a blade, asserting his dominance in a way that both intimidates and captivates me. "If I met you at a bar and I wasn't your boss, I'd still be interested in you because you're gorgeous, Amelia." The sincerity in his voice is undeniable, but it only adds to my confusion. "I don't care if you're my employee. I don't think that makes you easy pickings or easy to manipulate or whatever." He leans in closer, as if trying to bridge the distance between our two worlds. "I think it makes it easier for me to come and chat with you when I'm bored or easier for me to ask you out, which I haven't done because I've been terrified you were going to say no, but I'm not afraid anymore. Because I think you feel for me exactly what I feel for you." His words hang heavy in the air, laden with a promise that both excites and terrifies me, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the storm of my doubts.

He can't possibly know what I feel for him. "You don't mean what you're saying, Jameson." My voice sounds even weaker than before, a mere whisper barely escaping my lips, because I'm overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. Confusion clouds my thoughts as I grapple with the possibility that he might actually be sincere. What if he's being honest? The idea sends a shiver down my spine. "I'm not your type," I add, trying to convince myself more than him.

With a sudden, gentle yet firm movement, Jameson grabs my chin, tilting my face up to meet his intense gaze. "You most certainly are, sweetheart. You are perfect for me. I'm trying to make you see that." His words are a soothing balm to my insecurities, but they only amplify the storm raging within me.

I open my mouth to argue with him again, to throw out another self-deprecating remark, but he cuts me off before I can voice my doubts.

"If you put yourself down again, so help me God, Amelia, I will take you over my knee until you learn to see yourself through my eyes." The seriousness in his tone sends a jolt through me, my heart racing at the thought of his fierce determination. It's a strange mix of fear and exhilaration, and I can't help but wonder if he might actually be right.

I don't know if it's the threat or the authority behind his words, but a shiver of lust runs down my spine, igniting a fire I didn't expect to feel. I snap my mouth closed, the sudden silence between us thick with unspoken tension. The words that were previously at the tip of my tongue—those self-deprecating thoughts that had been my constant companions—get swallowed back down, and I decide they're better off left unsaid.

"As to your age, young lady," he begins in that same commanding tone, a timbre that feels both comforting and electrifying, "I hardly think that's a factor right now. You're brilliant. You can hold your own in a conversation with me, and honestly, I've seen you navigate far tougher discussions than most." His gaze locks onto mine, steady and unwavering, which only amplifies the fluttering in my chest. "It's not as though you're under age or anything, so I doubt we have anything to worry about. Unless you can't picture yourself with an older man, then I think this is a moot discussion we're having right now."

His words hang in the air, challenging me to confront my own reservations, and I can feel the weight of his gaze urging me to reconsider.

When he phrases it like that, he makes it hard to argue with him. His confidence is disarming, and I can feel my defenses crumbling.

"Do you have a problem with seeing an older man, Amelia?" He asks when I don't immediately respond, his voice steady, almost teasing, as if he knows the answer already.

I quickly shake my head no, my heart racing. The thought of him, of us, is both exhilarating and terrifying, and I can't help but feel the heat creeping up my cheeks.

"And as to my feelings," Jameson continues, addressing the last thing that I mentioned in my earlier tirade, "I think that all of this goes to show you that I do, indeed, have feelings for you." He pauses, his gaze unwavering, as if daring me to doubt him. "And if that's not clear enough, then let me be more frank. Ever since you walked through the front office doors to apply for this job, I've thought you were smart, funny, charming, and wildly beautiful." Each word feels like a gentle caress, wrapping around my heart. "Every day since, you have shown me that you're a kind and generous person, and I want to get to know who you are inside and out."

His sincerity washes over me like a warm wave, enveloping me in a sensation I've longed for but never thought I'd actually feel. For a moment, I'm completely lost in the depths of his eyes, those captivating pools that seem to hold a universe of emotion. In that gaze, I feel both seen and cherished, as if he can look right past my insecurities and into the very core of who I am.

I bite my lip, a futile attempt to stem the tide of emotions threatening to spill over. This time, though, I fight back tears not out of sadness, but from overwhelming joy and relief. All these months I've spent fantasizing about Jameson, weaving intricate daydreams in which he was mine while simultaneously telling myself it would never work out, only to realize now that he's been doing the same thing. The revelation fills me with a warmth that chases away the doubts I once clung to like a life raft in a stormy sea.

A shiver of excitement runs down my spine as Jameson's words hang in the air, enveloping me in their sincerity. I can't help but feel a flutter in my chest as I imagine the scenarios he's painted, each one more enticing than the last.

"I want to know what you're like on a Saturday night, when the week's worries have melted away and you let loose," he continues, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I want to see you dressed up and ready for a party, your hair cascading in soft curls and your smile radiant."

My heart skips a beat as I picture us standing side by side in the kitchen, laughing and cooking dinner together. The thought of sharing such a mundane yet intimate moment with him feels surprisingly comforting.

But it's his next words that truly take my breath away. "I want to see you undressed in the bedroom, on the verge of orgasm," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks at the boldness of his statement, but I can't deny the thrill that courses through me at the thought of being vulnerable with him in such a way.

Jameson takes a step closer, his fingers brushing against mine as he continues. "I want to dance with you at my favorite bar at 1:00 am, when the crowd has thinned and the music is just loud enough to drown out the world."

As he speaks, I can already feel the beat of the music pulsing through me, the thrill of being so close to him in the dimly lit room. And when he adds, "I want to experience life with you, Amelia, and see if we're meant to spend the rest of ours together," I know without a doubt that I want the same thing.

My heart starts pounding in my chest like a drum. The picture he's painting with his words is so beautiful, so vivid. It's a vision I've never imagined for us, nor one that I've ever really dared to dream up for myself. The idea that he feels this way about me is astonishing; I never thought I'd have any kind of future with someone as captivating as Jameson.

"Stay after work tonight," he says, a sly grin spreading across his face that makes my stomach flutter. "I want to talk to you some more, okay?"

I'm acutely aware that this moment, as perfect as it feels, eventually has to end. Yet, with the promise of more to come, I find that I don't even feel disappointed. In fact, I'm filled with an exhilarating sense of anticipation. "Yes, absolutely," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, but the conviction behind it is unmistakable.

Jameson leans down to place a soft kiss on my forehead, and the warmth of his lips sends a delightful shiver through me. "I'll see you in a couple of hours," he says, his voice low and reassuring. Then, with a glance that lingers just a moment longer than necessary, he turns and strides toward the mechanic bay, ready to finish his work with an energy that makes my heart race.

I practically float back to my desk, lost in a dreamy haze of ‘did that really just happen?' My mind buzzes with the thrill of it all, the reality of the moment washing over me like a wave. I can't believe that everything I've always wanted is really about to come true. A dominant, sexy, older man wants me. He thinks I'm beautiful just the way I am, and the thought sends a rush of warmth flooding my cheeks.

My mother has often said that this would happen one day, that I just had to get off my butt and work hard to get skinnier, but she would just die if she knew that it was happening now. That a man like Jameson—who owns his own business, who is successful and confident in his own right—was interested in little old me. Or, should I say, big old me. I can almost hear her voice echoing in my head, a mixture of disbelief and disbelief, but right now, that doesn't matter. What matters is that tonight, everything could change.