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She'd just begun reading a fascinating article on archaeological discoveries at Tell-el-Amarna when Michael spoke. "Look, it's getting late, and I have a lot of things to do in the morning. Time for you to go home." Darla closed her eyes for a moment. All right, she thought, if that's the way you want it... She reached down, slipped on her shoes again, tossed the magazine on the table and got up to go. Her portfolio and purse and all her papers had been left on the table by the door, and she turned that way, unwilling to look at Michael. Sometimes, she thought, I wish you hadn't talked me into this so-called collaboration. I wish you hadn't insisted that we both work here at your place. I wish you hadn't... He came into her field of vision, surprising her out of her train of thought. He stood there in the light reflected from the desk, shirt gone, tenuous smile on his face. If you really wanted me to leave, she thought, why did you take off your shirt? A smile replaced the sullen. Uncertainty caused me to pull out of his embrace, to look into the fiery depths of his caramel eyes. His eyes smouldered with the same intensity I had seen only once before. His hand rose to the nape of my neck as if on its own accord while the other hand lingered at the small of my back. The heat from his hands seeped into my bare skin warming me to the core and removing every last bit of remaining fear. He slowly leaned in, his breath warm on my face. He smelled like peppermint, cinnamon and that male scent that only he can claim to possess. Our lips touched and my world imploded. His lips gently moved against mine in slow motions that sent my libido into overdrive. Warmth spread throughout my body, blazing a trail across nerves and synapses, consuming everything in its path. Rationality and logic included. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked breathlessly against my lips. Before I could even form the words, he stole my breath away by kissing his way down to my neck and collar.
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Hell, she paid rent here, too. More than her share most of the time, the broke-ass motherfuckers. And cleaned up after them. And kept the kitchen stocked. And kept him from flipping out on them when he was in one of his moods. It had all been bearable, kind of, as long as she had him to turn to, but after last night… Jesus, he wasn’t even sorry. She could see it in his eyes. He’d looked up at her from between that bitch’s legs, his mouth still wet, and he’d licked his goddamn lips and smiled. Motherfucker. ‘Why don’t you join us,’ he’d said, winking. Like it was some party she was fashionably late for. No big deal, we’re just having a good time. You can too if you don’t start acting crazy and ruin the fun for everyone. No broken promises, here. No broken hearts. Yeah. All that from a wink. When you know someone as well as she knew him, you don’t even have to speak. She could read his thoughts in the careless shrug of his shoulders and the warning cock of his eyebrow. She took.

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