deranged.
“Sure, I’ve got your number—you gave it to me.” His hand plunged into his front left pocket (khakis, she noted approvingly, which was fine for business-casual Friday) and he pulled out a tiny yellow stamp.
No: it was a Post-it note. She saw he had very carefully folded it with crisp corners, and folded it again, and again, so it was teeny and yellow and a bare half-inch across. “I have little pockets,” he mumbled, his pale freckled skin blushing, “and didn’t want to lose it, so I was careful when I stuck it in there.”
“That is so adorable I might pass out.” It was. I must stop saying these things out loud to him. She carefully unfolded it, observed her cell number written in handwriting not her own, then carefully refolded it (teeny origami!) and gave it back, feeling loads better. “I didn’t write that.” In fact, she had a solid idea who did. The relief that Linus seemed to like her for herself was enough to make her knees weak. Or was a residual symptom of his kiss. “I didn’t leave that for you. Isn’t that great?”
“Oh.” His blush deepened. “I guess you didn’t mean for me to have it, then. Here.” He tried to hand back the teeny origami but she wouldn’t take it.
“That’s not what I meant! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—it’s fine that you have my number. It’s not a state secret or anything.” She felt awful, knowing he thought she thought he’d been a creep and, worse, a creep she did not want to give her digits to. His dear face was rapidly nearing the color of a ripe beefsteak tomato. It was strange, but his mortification touched her almost as much as his kiss had. His sweet kiss and his dear face and now he couldn’t look at her; he was in an agony of embarrassment and she had never felt more tender and protective of anyone, ever, in her life. “See? I can prove it. Like this.”
Then she seized his shoulders, yanked him forward, and kissed him back.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Sometime later (seconds, hours, a month?) they both came up for air. They’d staggered around her office like two people trapped in a sack together, their arms around each other, kissing with the fury of two people who had remembered that often the best part of a relationship was the part they were embarked on right that moment, in her office, on her Corporate Yawn–colored carpet.
Linus hadn’t even remembered when they’d left their feet. He was having trouble remembering any specifics at all. He had been so glad to see her and so happy to kiss her and so angry to realize she thought he was pretending to like her and then—pretending? What the hell ? Who would? And why?
He had no idea how someone could fake being enchanted by a beautiful smart wonderful woman like Hailey Derry (hero, hero). He hadn’t been able to think straight for days; who could fake that? The thought upset him all over again and he instinctively put a hand to her. She took it, turned it over, and planted a soft kiss on his palm that he instantly felt . . . somewhere else.
“I never thought the name Linus was especially erotic.” She shook her head and let him take his hand back (not that he was in any rush to do so). “How little I know.”
“That’s right. More fool you!”
“It’s the name. Do it to me, Linus. Fill me up, Linus. Ooooh, give it to me haaaard, Linus!” She raised her voice to be heard over his helpless laughter. “If you kissed me as some sort of negative reinforcement because I ducked out on lunch, it was an utter failure.”
They were both sitting on the carpet, thoroughly rumpled. They’d both called a halt right around the time they both went for the other’s shirt buttons. (“Uh . . . probably not the best idea.” “Right.” “In my office, I mean.” “Right.” “To be continued.” “ Damn right.”)
He shook his head. “It wasn’t negative reinforcement. I was just so damned glad to see you. You came rushing in like you do, in a hurry, and I’ve sort
“Sure, I’ve got your number—you gave it to me.” His hand plunged into his front left pocket (khakis, she noted approvingly, which was fine for business-casual Friday) and he pulled out a tiny yellow stamp.
No: it was a Post-it note. She saw he had very carefully folded it with crisp corners, and folded it again, and again, so it was teeny and yellow and a bare half-inch across. “I have little pockets,” he mumbled, his pale freckled skin blushing, “and didn’t want to lose it, so I was careful when I stuck it in there.”
“That is so adorable I might pass out.” It was. I must stop saying these things out loud to him. She carefully unfolded it, observed her cell number written in handwriting not her own, then carefully refolded it (teeny origami!) and gave it back, feeling loads better. “I didn’t write that.” In fact, she had a solid idea who did. The relief that Linus seemed to like her for herself was enough to make her knees weak. Or was a residual symptom of his kiss. “I didn’t leave that for you. Isn’t that great?”
“Oh.” His blush deepened. “I guess you didn’t mean for me to have it, then. Here.” He tried to hand back the teeny origami but she wouldn’t take it.
“That’s not what I meant! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—it’s fine that you have my number. It’s not a state secret or anything.” She felt awful, knowing he thought she thought he’d been a creep and, worse, a creep she did not want to give her digits to. His dear face was rapidly nearing the color of a ripe beefsteak tomato. It was strange, but his mortification touched her almost as much as his kiss had. His sweet kiss and his dear face and now he couldn’t look at her; he was in an agony of embarrassment and she had never felt more tender and protective of anyone, ever, in her life. “See? I can prove it. Like this.”
Then she seized his shoulders, yanked him forward, and kissed him back.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Sometime later (seconds, hours, a month?) they both came up for air. They’d staggered around her office like two people trapped in a sack together, their arms around each other, kissing with the fury of two people who had remembered that often the best part of a relationship was the part they were embarked on right that moment, in her office, on her Corporate Yawn–colored carpet.
Linus hadn’t even remembered when they’d left their feet. He was having trouble remembering any specifics at all. He had been so glad to see her and so happy to kiss her and so angry to realize she thought he was pretending to like her and then—pretending? What the hell ? Who would? And why?
He had no idea how someone could fake being enchanted by a beautiful smart wonderful woman like Hailey Derry (hero, hero). He hadn’t been able to think straight for days; who could fake that? The thought upset him all over again and he instinctively put a hand to her. She took it, turned it over, and planted a soft kiss on his palm that he instantly felt . . . somewhere else.
“I never thought the name Linus was especially erotic.” She shook her head and let him take his hand back (not that he was in any rush to do so). “How little I know.”
“That’s right. More fool you!”
“It’s the name. Do it to me, Linus. Fill me up, Linus. Ooooh, give it to me haaaard, Linus!” She raised her voice to be heard over his helpless laughter. “If you kissed me as some sort of negative reinforcement because I ducked out on lunch, it was an utter failure.”
They were both sitting on the carpet, thoroughly rumpled. They’d both called a halt right around the time they both went for the other’s shirt buttons. (“Uh . . . probably not the best idea.” “Right.” “In my office, I mean.” “Right.” “To be continued.” “ Damn right.”)
He shook his head. “It wasn’t negative reinforcement. I was just so damned glad to see you. You came rushing in like you do, in a hurry, and I’ve sort
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