From His Lips by Leylah Attar

1. GROUND ZERO

     
    I was in a black mood, and there was nothing I could
do about it except bury myself in more work. Tina skulked into the
office, hugging the walls like she wanted to disappear into
them.
    “Here you go, Mr. Heathgate,” she said.
    I could almost hear her gulp as she left the
documents on my desk, before scurrying back out. I was half-way
through of a long column of figures when my phone rang.
    “Why are you calling my cell, Sam? What do we
have land lines for?”
    “Sorry, Troy. It’s Saturday. I didn’t think
you’d be at work. Is this a bad time?”
    “Cut to the chase,” I growled.
    He launched into our latest project. I should
have been listening. So much depended on it. But all I could think
about was her . I had made an art of avoiding her for four
years. Four long, miserable years that hung like a thundery, grey
cloud over me. It was there when I opened my eyes in the morning,
turning everything dull and foggy. Once in a while, I managed to
escape, to jump-start the adrenaline and feel alive again. Biking
treacherous paths in Bolivia; ice-climbing the Rocky Mountains;
giving in to the crazy thirst for a pair of golden arms and legs.
But when morning came, I was back to grey. Ground Zero. Until
yesterday—a truly drab, rainy day that had burst into a
kaleidoscope of spectacular color the moment I’d stepped into
Jayne’s car.
    And there she was. In the passenger seat.
    Shayda Hijazi.
    Damn her. Damn her golden, glowy skin and her
liquid brown eyes. Damn the way she'd looked at me like I was the
apocalypse, knocking on her door. Damn the way her voice quivered
when she’d said hello. But most of all, damn her for having this
friggin’ hold over me.
    I ran my fingers through my hair, wishing I
could wipe yesterday clean, start over and head in the opposite
direction so I was nowhere near Jayne and her stalled car. Seeing
Shayda again was like getting a sniff of the drug you had sworn
off, the one that could kill you, but still called to you, wanting
to get in your blood and turn your insides out. I focused on Sam’s
voice, trying to clear my head as I stared out the window.
    “Miss? MISS! May I help you?” I heard Tina’s
voice before the door to my office swung open.
    And there she was again. Two days in a row.
Shayda Hijazi. My deadly narcotic. My fix. My fixation. My opium.
Except she was like a field of blazing poppies—soft, swaying petals
that made me forget all about the poison seeds; standing before me
in a prim and proper dress that made me want to slide my hands
under the full skirt and rip her panties off.
    “Sam, I’ll call you back,” I said before
hanging up.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Heathgate, she just—”
    “Thank you, Tina. That’ll be all.”
    Tina hesitated, her eyes darting from me to
Shayda, before seeing herself out and shutting the door behind
her.
    And then it was just me and Shayda. Well,
technically, it was me, Shayda and the whole charged-up field that
always zapped between us, like mini bolts of blue lightning. I
stood motionless, speechless, afraid she’d take off, afraid she
wouldn’t.
    “I got the umbrella,” she said, after what
seemed like an eternity of holding my breath.
    “Good.”
    “Doesn’t look like I’m going to need it
today.”
    “No.”
    “Well. I just came by to say thanks,” she
said, shifting uneasily under my gaze.
    It wasn’t until she reached for the door that
I moved.
    No.
    I’m not done looking at you.
    I’m not done filling myself up on your face
and your fingers and your feet and your soft, sexy voice.
    “Don’t go.” I shut the door, bracing my arms
on either side of her as she stood with her hand on the door knob,
her back to me.
    God. I’d missed her—the rose scent of her
skin, the way her hair grew on her nape, the perfect, delectable
ears that I could swallow whole in my mouth. It took steel-edged
control to stop myself from grabbing her waist, from spinning her
around and unleashing my pent-up passion