I’m so comfortable right now and feel so safe around him. I close my eyes for just a minute.
“Scarlet,” Weston whispers. “Scarlet.”
My eyes flutter open, and I realize I’ve fallen to the side, drifting to sleep. Wes is looking down at me, his face dangerously close to mine.
“You’re falling asleep,” he says with a chuckle. “Go to bed.”
“No way.” I stretch out, moving closer to him. “We’re too far in to give up now. I don’t take you to be a quitter.”
Wes laughs again. “I’m not, though I never looked at turning off the TV because it’s now almost four AM as quitting.”
“We’ve got, what, one episode left? It’s quitting in my book.”
“Well, I guess we have to watch until the end.” The smile is still on his face as he leans back, but the second he relaxes, he gets up again, moving in between the couch and the coffee table, reaching over to get the blanket that fell onto the floor. He grabs it and spreads it over me.
My heart speeds up, and suddenly I feel like I’m in a rickety boat, being tossed about in stormy water. Not because Wes scares me, but because he does the exact opposite.
You’re walking the line of dangerous territory, I remind myself. He’s my boss. Sleeping with your boss is never a good idea.
“Thanks.” I smooth out the blanket and sit up, fixing the pillows. “Is it just my imagination or is it colder in here now?”
“It’s colder. I have the heat set to go down a few degrees between midnight and five AM. It goes back up at six-thirty, around the time Jackson gets up.” His brows furrow. “Though I suppose I can change it to seven-thirty now since he doesn’t have to get up so early anymore.”
I nod, knowing what he’s talking about. They used to leave the house around seven in order to drop Jackson off at Wes’s parents’ before Wes went in for work.
“Are you cold?” I ask him, swinging my legs over the side of the couch and offering to share the blanket.
“I’m okay,” he says and kicks his feet back up on the coffee table.
“Really?” I ask dubiously and reach out—against my better judgment, of course—and press my hand against his bicep. “You are warm.” I push up and eye him suspiciously. “Are you really a shifter?”
“Huh?”
I shake my head and laugh. “Shifter. Or werewolf. In paranormal romance books, any sort of were or shifter is always described as being warmer than normal humans.”
Wes raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “I didn’t know that.”
“I’m a little weird. Maybe I should have warned you.”
Slowly, he angles his body toward me and brings one arm up, resting it on the back of the couch behind me. “I like weird.”
“Well, you’re in luck.”
Our eyes meet and my heart flutters. This is the most real I’ve seen Wes, and this is the most real he’s seen me. Because right now, I’m not Scarlet, the con-artist, scourge of the South Side. I’m just Scarlet, the quirky blonde who reads smutty vampire and werewolf romance novels in her spare time and gets way too wrapped up in scary TV shows.
Wes’s fingertips brush against my shoulder, and I shiver. I tip my head towards his, lips parting. He moves his head down toward mine.
He needs to stop.
I need to look away.
But I don’t.
And he doesn’t.
Our eyes meet again, and I know he’s feeling the exact same thing as I am. My heart flutters in my chest, like it’s taking flight before it starts flapping its wings as hard as it can, beating away like a drum inside my chest.
He sweeps his hand down, and his fingers trail along my arm. His touch is gentle, making me want to lean in and feel more. He’s doing it on purpose, knowing exactly what kind of reaction he’s going to get from me.
I don’t know if I should be mad at him for it or not. Swallowing hard, I take my bottom lip between my teeth and slowly lean in. He brings his hand up again and pushes my hair back behind my ear.
He’s going to kiss me.
The little bit of logic that hasn’t left me is screaming to stop, because if he kisses me, things won’t end there. I’ll climb into his lap, press my core against him, and feel his cock harden beneath me. I’ll wrap my arms around his neck and buck my hips back, rubbing his cock against me once, maybe twice, before going in for another kiss. His hands will settle on my waist, pushing under my T-shirt, feeling the soft skin on my back. He’ll shift his weight, rubbing himself against me until the top of his boxers dampens from the glistening tip of his cock.
He’ll press his lips to mine again, and I’ll push my tongue into his mouth. We’ll fall back on the couch, kissing with fervor as we peel off each other’s clothes. He’ll want to carry me upstairs, but I’ll be too impatient to wait even half a minute to feel his big, rough hands sweeping over my body, moving down my thighs, parting my legs, and rubbing over my clit.
If I let him kiss me, I’m going to end up sleeping with him. And nothing good ever comes from sleeping with your boss.
My heart flutters again, and the little bit of logic dissolves into nothing.
He’s going to kiss me.
And I’m going to let him.
Chapter Twelve
Weston
If there was ever a rational part of my brain, it’s now dead and buried six feet under. My cock has taken over, and right now it’s screaming at me to kiss Scarlet. To take her in my arms, feel her breasts crush against my chest, to put my lips to hers and see if she tastes as good as I think she will.
It plays out before me, and I imagine her in my lap, legs wrapped around my waist, pulling my shirt over my head. My cock jumps at the thought, and I inch in closer and closer.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is a bad idea. She’s Jackson’s nanny and hasn’t even been here that long and I’m already trying to make a move on her. But it’s not like she’s uninterested, and I can tell by the way she’s biting her bottom lip and is moving toward me that she wants this too.
We shouldn’t. We really fucking shouldn’t.
But dammit, I’m tired of holding back, of going to bed alone. I’ve spent the last four years convincing the world that I’m not lonely, but you can only lie to yourself for so long before the smoke and mirrors gives way for the bullshit it really is.
I’m going to kiss her.
I bring my hand to her face, cupping her cheek. Her skin is so soft, and her long hair tangles around my fingers. I want to take a fistful of it, pulling it gently as I kiss her hard.
Scarlet’s tongue darts out, wetting her lips. I’m officially a goner now. No logic is left, and I move forward, bringing my other hand to her waist. My fingers rest on the curve of her hip, and she tenses for a second before melting against me, bringing a hand up and resting it on my chest. She tips her head up, lips parting.
I inhale, heart beating faster and faster. I take one last second to look at her pretty face, to admire the sapphire blue of her eyes, the light freckles on her cheeks that she covered up with makeup the first time I saw her. I brush her hair back, moving it out of the way.