Hell . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LARKIN
“It was you, Larkin, that made me smile. All fucking you . . .” His voice trails off as he looks to the side.
Me?
He was . . . he was thinking of me? That’s what made him smile?
I don’t know what to say.
What to do.
How to react.
For years I’ve dreamed of what would happen if I ever crossed that line with Ford, my boss, and for years, I’ve tamped down that feeling, knowing it would only end up in a complete disaster—because there was no way Ford would ever look at me like that.
I’m the twig of a girl who came storming into his office, half-ready to break down into an emotional mess and half-determined to make something of myself, begging for a job, any kind of job, just something to keep me connected to my father.
I never would have considered him thinking of me that way.
“Fuck,” he mutters and pushes his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Larkin, I never should have—”
Before I can stop myself, I close the distance between us, grip the back of his neck, and pull him close as my mouth descends on his.
Together, we sit there, stunned.
Our mouths are touching, but that’s about it.
We’re not moving.
We’re not wrapped up in each other’s embrace.
We’re not attempting more than two pairs of lips pressing together, and that’s when I realize I’ve made a giant mistake.
I quickly release him and scoot back, putting a few feet between us as I cover my furiously blushing face with my hands. “Oh my God, Ford, I’m so sorry. I never should have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t even thinking at all. It was stupid and careless, and I was caught up in the moment.” I remove my hands to look into his stunned eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat and pulls his legs into his chest.
Yup, I messed this up so bad.
So freaking bad.
Trying to hold back tears, I stand from the floor and pick up the pot. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll take care of this.”
Quickly, before he can see a tear fall, I walk into the kitchen, pot in hand, and set it in the sink before gripping the counter and taking a deep breath.
Don’t cry, Larkin. That will only make matters worse.
It was a mistake; mistakes happen. This is something we can move past.
So, you kissed your boss. You’re a smart girl; you can think of ways to get through this monumental moment that never should have happened.
I suck in a few sharp breaths, attempting to steel my emotions as they run rampant in my head.
Embarrassment.
Humiliation.
Fear.
Confusion.
They all hit me at the same time, consuming me, overwhelming me, and pulling tears from my eyes.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What on earth would possess you to kiss your boss?
Yes, the moment felt heavy, but that’s how it can get with Ford. That doesn’t mean you KISS HIM.
From the way he didn’t move, just sat their stunned, as if he was counting the nanoseconds until I let go of him, it’s clear I read the situation entirely wrong.
I make him smile . . . as a friend.
Not anything else.
As a friend, you naive, naive girl.
Gathering myself, I take a deep breath and wipe at my eyes. I need to go in there at some point or he’s going to come out here to make sure I didn’t fall in the sink or try to throw myself down the garbage disposal. Both viable options right now.
But if anything, I’m resilient. I’ve gotten over worse. Yes, nothing this embarrassing, but I can do this. Just be confident.
I let out another deep breath, set my shoulders back, and with a twisted stomach of nerves and embarrassment, I walk back into the living room, where Ford is sitting, staring at the fire.
This has got to be one of the first times since I started working with him that I can’t read him. I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling, and that terrifies me.
And lucky for me, this is the first time I’m dealing with the “I kissed my boss” situation, so I’m navigating uncharted waters.
Desperately trying to act casual, I step over the “boulder” cushions and take a seat next to him while also giving us at least two feet of distance, in case he thinks I’m trying to make a move again. Learned my lesson; won’t be doing that again.
I bring my legs into my chest, mirroring his position, and hug them close while I stare at the fire as well. The tension is so thick, so uncomfortable, that I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it through the night unless we clear the air.
“Do you want to play cards or something?” I ask, noticing that the rain outside has eased up to a steady fall, something I wouldn’t mind walking in just to escape this moment.
Running in the rain all the way to the inn feels more tempting by the second.
“No, I’m good,” Ford says, his voice barely audible.
God, I totally ruined this entire night. Stomach positively aching, I say, “You know, I’m actually not feeling too great. It looks like the storm has let up a bit; might be a good idea for me to take off, give you some space.”
I go to stand, but Ford places his hand on my knee, keeping me in place. With a sharp intake of breath, I look up at him, confused, as his eyes meet mine.
His hand reaches out, locks behind my neck, and he pulls me closer until his lips are pressed against mine, but this time, they’re not stunned; they know exactly what they want. Tears fill my eyes as Ford kisses me.
Truly kisses me.
The distance between our bodies closes, and before I know what’s happening, Ford is lowering me down to the ground, his strong, domineering body hovering over mine as his lips explore and take simultaneously.
The humiliation, the fear, the raw emotions of the moment before, they all fade to black as I move my hand to the back of his head so my fingers can sift through his hair.
And then his mouth parts and his tongue swipes against my lips, looking for entrance. I brace myself as I part my lips as well and our tongues clash. He groans against me, his body pressing into mine as his hand grips my jaw, his thumb pressing my chin up, giving him a better angle.
I let him take control, not just because it seems like he needs it, but because I need to feel it—I need to know that I didn’t just mess everything up, that I’m not forcing him to do this, but in fact, he’s taking me into his arms, that this moment in front of the fireplace is actually meant to be.
He presses a small kiss across my lips.
Then my nose.
Then he lifts up a few inches and stares down at me.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “I never realized how much I’ve wanted to do that until just now.”
“Kiss me?” I ask, breathless.
He nods. “So much.” He leans down and presses another kiss to my lips. “It feels like I’ve wanted this, us, forever, but never truly understood that until you reached out and stunned me with your kiss. It was like you unlocked the door to feelings that I’ve kept hidden for, well, years.”
“So you weren’t disgusted that I just kissed you? I didn’t ruin anything?”
“Disgusted?” His brows pull together. “Larkin, I was fucking bewildered. I didn’t know you thought about me that way. I was reeling, trying to decide if that actually happened or if I dreamed it.” He leans down and presses another kiss against my lips. “But it’s real. So real. You want me, just like I want you.”