“I’ve got it. Give me the details and I’ll sort it out.”
Her eyes widened and I felt my cheeks heating under her scrutiny. Jesus. Fuck.
“It’s no big deal,” I added, my voice gruffer than I intended it to be.
“It’s really sweet.”
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
“I’m a guy. By definition I am not sweet,” I grumbled.
Her lips twitched. “You’re right. My apologies.” She leaned forward across my desk, lowering her voice to a mock whisper. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them about what a hard-ass you are, how you eat 1Ls for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
It was the words “lips,” and “hard-ass,” that made me do it. I’d been thinking about those kids, honestly I had, and then she said, “lips,” and my gaze went immediately to her mouth. At “hard-ass,” the erection that had been dissipating sprang back to life as I thought of her ass in my hands. And then she leaned forward, and because my brain was temporarily disengaged, I did the thing I’d been dying to do since I’d seen her this morning.
I tugged on her ponytail.
The absurdity of the motion caught us both off guard, and we froze as I reached out and grabbed a fistful of the swinging hair.
Silky. Soft. Perfect.
I wanted to feel the strands on my stomach when she went down on me, wanted to wrap my fingers around her long hair, holding it like a rope binding her to me.
Her lips parted at my touch, her eyes full of heat. I wondered if she’d kiss me back if I leaned forward another inch, if I gave in to temptation. The breathy sigh that escaped her lips answered my question better than words could have.
We stayed like that for a moment, as if we both knew that moving forward was impossible, but neither one of us wanted to pull away.
And then finally, when the nearness became almost unbearable, I released my hold on her, leaning back into my chair, trying to convince myself that I had more self-control than I obviously did.
She blinked and shifted in her seat, her back straight. I waited for her to freak out, half expected her to get up and leave. But Blair Reynolds never gave me what I expected.
I almost thought she’d been totally unaffected by the moment that had passed between us. Almost.
But some things you just couldn’t hide.
Like the way her chest rose and fell as if no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Or how tightly she held her hands together in her lap, her knuckles white, as though she held on for dear life.
Chapter Eleven
Four days away from the election, another day, another Reynolds campaign event with the Reynolds sisters conspicuously absent. It’s difficult to campaign on “family values” when you’ve driven your own family away . . .
—Capital Confessions blog
Blair
I closed my phone’s browser, already dreading the call I’d receive from my mother. I figured the only reason she hadn’t shown up on my doorstep was the fact that I was never home, considering I was pulling twelve-hour days at the law school, not to mention how busy I’d been planning for the Halloween carnival.
And now that it was here, it had all been worth it.
Greenwood Middle School’s gym was a shrine to Halloween. I’d gotten my twenty volunteers—more like forty, once Gray had issued his extra credit offer. Everyone was dressed up in costumes, and we had stations set up throughout with masks and more, that thanks to Gray’s generous donation, would make sure all the kids got a chance to participate. There were tables with games and prizes, a ton of food that I’d called in every favor I could think of to get donated, and lastly, dry ice punch in a giant black cauldron. I was still putting the finishing touches on it.
“I didn’t realize you included ‘miracle worker’ among your many talents.”
I whirled around and collided with a hard, black-sweater-clad wall. Gah. I looked up into Gray’s dark eyes.
“Where’s your costume?”
He grinned. “I could ask you the same.” He leaned closer, his lips inches from my ear. “Disappointed not to see horns and a pitchfork?” he teased.
I laughed nervously, trying to focus on the mental image of him wearing a forked tail and not how good he smelled.
“I’m devastated.”
“Where’s yours?” he countered, gesturing at my jeans and T-shirt.
“I’m planning on dressing up. I was just putting the finishing touches on the punch.” Behind me, the ice smoked out of the cauldron, the perfect witch’s brew. “I think I put in too much eye of newt,” I joked. “Or maybe it was too few snake eyes. It’s a tricky recipe to get right.”
His smile deepened, his eyes twinkling.
I felt my cheeks redden and I jerked my head away, my gaze settling on one of the costume stations. I turned my back to him, striding over to the box, rifling through it until I found a white Phantom of the Opera–style mask. I figured he would object to dressing in a full costume, but the mask seemed like a good compromise.
“Here.” I held it out to him. “You have to dress up.” I gave him my most persuasive smile. “It’s for the kids.”
He took the mask from my hands, our fingers brushing beneath the plastic. I expected him to pull away, but instead his fingers curled around mine and squeezed. It was just a moment, a whisper of a moment, and then it was gone.
Gray looked away first, staring down at the mask in hand.
“Phantom of the Opera, huh? Seems appropriate.”
I was surprised he recognized it. Something about people spontaneously breaking into song didn’t quite fit his no-nonsense image.
“I’ve read the book,” he offered, answering my unspoken question.
I didn’t know why this surprised me, but it did. He was so smart that I should have pegged him as a reader, but I supposed I had such an image of him built up in my mind that it was hard to see him doing something as normal as reading.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I volunteered.
It was one of the few books I’d read in high school English that I’d actually enjoyed.
“Let me guess? You rooted for the dashing Raoul and the lovely Christine to overcome evil and find their happy ending together.”
I shook my head.
His brow quirked. “No?”
“Raoul kind of annoyed me. I know he was supposed to be the hero and exciting, but he just blended into the background. Actually, I felt sorry for the Phantom.”
He looked genuinely perplexed by my answer. “Why? He was a monster.”
“He wasn’t a monster. He was lonely. He was hurting, and found peace in a girl who didn’t love him. He did terrible things, but he loved her. All he wanted was for her to love him back.”
“And that makes what he did okay?” Gray countered, the lawyer coming out in full force.
“No, but that’s what makes it sad rather than romantic.”
His eyes got soft and he gave me the expression he’d shared in the car.
“Blair.” My name rolled off of his lips somewhere between a groan and a whisper. As if it was something he hid inside himself, in the depths of his soul.
I’d always been a softie. Kate teased me for bawling at holiday commercials . . . movies . . . sentimental greeting cards. But it wasn’t just that I tended to feel other people’s hurts as if they were my own. It was that his hurt felt like my own. And I couldn’t bear the weight of it in my chest.
I tilted my chin to meet his gaze, to let myself drown in those beautiful eyes, and my ponytail swished forward over my shoulder. Desire flared in his eyes at the same time I remembered his reaction to my hair in his office, and then his hand lifted and hovered in midair.