She stares at it for a minute and then looks at me. “Five thousand copies of Farm Love? Are you insane?”
“Yes. We talked about romance books in L.A., and you never told me your mom wrote them,” I say sharply, narrowing my eyes at her. “My EA needs to be more forthcoming. Now your parents can have a brand-new roof over their heads while libraries all over the country enjoy Emily Bristol’s work. Consider it a bonus. A belated one I would’ve given you anyway after your work on Woof Meow Chow and the Jazzle Razzle accounts. We might have lost Stedfaust and his gourmet pet food if you hadn’t been in the meeting that day.”
I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider, but they do.
“And frankly, I should’ve apologized sooner,” I grind out. “Better late than never. I’m only half the devil you think I am, Sabrina.”
“It’s...I just...what? Okay. First, it’s not an EA’s place to be ‘forthcoming—’” She puts finger quotes around that word and I smile. “Not about her parents’ occupations. Not even with her boss. But I’m glad you’re happy with my work, apology accepted, and...thank you, Mag. Thank you so, so much.”
Does she hear herself?
How could I not be pleased with her work? Aside from me, she’s hands down the hardest worker at the senior level, and she’s a breath of fresh air.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter, totally disinterested in drowning in her praise.
I turn my head and wait for her to follow, which she does a minute later.
“Will you look at that?” I say, pointing to the sky.
The lingering sunset turns the whole landscape into brilliant stripes of pink, red, purple, and orange. All the magic this place is known for, as I’ve seen years ago on other trips.
This time, though, it isn’t just the sun freeing my overworked mind.
Brina is a torrid sight I’ll never forget.
Every color in that tie-dyed tank top, which she rocks without the cardigan, hangs loosely in the flickering sunset. It loops down her freckled ivory shoulders, showing off cleavage like peaches and cream.
It’s fucking painful to keep my hands to myself, to resist the urge to yank her into my lap and kiss her, to steal every breath from her lungs.
The wine must be curdling my better judgment.
“Listen, just so we’re clear, I’m insanely grateful for the bonus. But in the future, it isn’t cool for you to research my par—”
“Background check,” I cut her off.
Damn her, she’s too cute.
“I know, Mag, but you can’t just buy my mom’s books. She’ll think she has real sales and living, breathing fans. She’ll start thinking she can count on those sales to—”
Screw resisting.
Screw her worries, too.
Before I can stop myself, I reach out and grab her, pulling that lithe body into my lap. I bend my head, facing her lips.
She doesn’t complain.
In fact, she sighs.
And every muscle in my body hardens.
“Save it for another time,” I whisper. “We’ll talk about it, I promise, but right now, we can’t save this magnificent sunset.”
“Oh.”
One word, and not even that, just a hot sigh pouring out of her, cascading against my mouth from the sliver of space left between us.
This woman will end me, and I’ll die smiling at her beauty.
Perfect sunsets aside, there’s something else I can’t save.
The narrow gap between us closes.
Her eyes go wide, all anticipation, an energy whipping through her.
My tongue flicks across her bottom lip.
She opens her mouth. This time her sigh is longer, higher pitched.
So much for a prayer of holding back.
I devour her then, slipping my tongue in and tasting her mouth, exploring her winding tongue, the inside of her lip, her top palate, and every airy breath she gives.
It’s a fuck-hot kiss for the ages under the tinted desert sky, as if we’re part of this landscape of sorcery and sin.
Her hands move to my head, her fingers attacking my hair, those nails that once wanted to slash ribbons across my face now begging for more. She shifts her weight over me.
Right over my hardness.
It’s a sweet hell, agonizing, and if it doesn’t stop now, it’s going to go too far. I deepen the kiss, pull her closer, claiming her with my hands, my teeth, my tongue.
My grip around her tightens, savoring the last few seconds, one last hurrah.
Because I know damn well what I have to do next.
I’m almost snarling as my head snaps back, jerking away, gasping for air.
I’m not alone. She’s panting, struggling to catch her breath while every bone in my body soaks up this sickness.
Fuck.
I’m just like my old man. I can’t lose the best EA I’ve ever had—not like this—and I won’t let her suffer through a scandal I probably deserve.
Office scandals follow women, and for her, it isn’t fucking fair.
“Sorry. We’ve both been drinking,” I say, trying to brush it off as the reckless, godawful wine-fueled error that it is, without making her feel ruined.
Right.
She stares at me wide-eyed but doesn’t say anything.
“I had to do something to calm you down. You were acting like a lunatic because I bought a few books.”
She’s confused. “Mag?”
I shake my head.
“Forget it. I meant every word of what I said; your bonus paid to your mother was well deserved, and you shouldn’t worry about it. Umm—” I wag a finger between us. “This thing that happened...too much wine and not enough water. I always forget how dry the air gets out here, even in the cooler months. Again, I had to do something to calm you—”
Her eyes bore into me, and she cuts me off.
“Got it. It’s not like I asked you to.”
Shit. Is she talking about the money or the kiss? Does that mean she didn’t want it?
“We’ll never speak of it again, and you’re still the best EA I’ve ever had. Deal?” I ask, offering my hand.
She doesn’t answer.
She storms away.
Downhill in flip-flops.
My gut clenches and my heart jumps into my throat. She almost fell several times on the way up, and going down, she’ll only have more momentum.
I race up behind her and scoop her up again, tossing her over my shoulder. She’s like a down pillow in my arms. She fights at first, her face crimson, but then she relents, shifting to stare at my lips like she can’t believe we went there.
I’m such an unholy jagoff.
“I thought we were done? Never speaking of that stuff again?”
“We won’t, but I’m not letting you break your neck either, woman. I have too much work for you to do.”
“I hate you.” Her words are humorless, menacing, a tone I haven’t heard her use before, and fuck, do I deserve it.
Let her loathe the ground I walk on and surround herself in barbed wire.
It’s the reminder I need, before I do the unspeakable.
If Sabrina Bristol hates me, maybe that’s the best thing I could hope for.
Years Ago
To: Magnus Heron
From: Jesy Cho