Page 19 of Falling for Her Grumpy Boss

Then she kisses me for real.

My head tips back slightly with the force of it, surprise hitting hard enough to leave me dizzy for a second. Heat floods through my body all at once, fast and brutal, while my brain struggles to catch up with the fact that Tess Ramirez is kissing me like she means it.

Like she wants this as much as I do.

My hands close around her hips on instinct, fingers tightening just enough to keep her close while her mouth opens against mine. The kiss deepens immediately, no dithering left in it now, and every coherent thought in my head scatters.

Jesus Christ.

One serious kiss and I’m ready to lay her over my desk and fuck until my legs give out.

The pressure behind my zipper turns sharp enough to ache as blood rushes low and heavy through me. I shift reflexively, trying to adjust without dragging her fully against me, but she makes this soft little sound into my mouth that nearly destroys what’s left of my restraint.

I kiss her harder.

Taste her.

My hand slides up her back until I’m cradling the base of her neck, holding her there while the kiss turns deep and hungry in a way that has no place inside this office.

A week.

It took one fucking week for this woman to get under my skin.

When we finally break apart, it’s only because breathing becomes necessary. Her lips are flushed and swollen, eyes darker now, and I can feel my own pulse hammering hard enough to make my chest tight.

I stare at her for a second too long.

Then my thumb drags once more across her mouth, and another violent jolt of arousal goes through me so fast it almost feels like shock.

She doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t look away.

The silence stretches, but it doesn’t create distance. It closes it. I feel it in the way my chest tightens, in the way my breath doesn’t settle the way it should, in the way I don’t reach for the desk again, even though I know exactly where it is behind me.

I stop in front of her. Her breasts press against my chest when she shifts her weight. Her scent reaches me when I draw in a breath, clean and warm beneath the sharper smells of paper, coffee, and polished wood, and my body reacts before my mind catches up.

Want slams through me hard enough to feel physical.

This is the point where I step back.

I know it.

I’ve done it before.

My hand lifts anyway.

I don’t touch her immediately. I let it hover for a second, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin before contact, close enough that pulling back would still be easy if I chose it. My fingers close the distance a moment later, settling at her jaw with just enough pressure to turn her face slightly.

She lets me.

That’s what breaks it.

Not the heat already burning through me or the ache building low in my body every second she stands this close.

It’s the way she softens beneath my hand instead of pulling away.

The way her breath catches against my skin when my thumb brushes across her lower lip. The way she leans into the touch a fraction before she stills again, like the reaction surprised her as much as it did me.