Finally, when I was gasping for air, he pulled back. His hooded eyes bounced from my swollen lips to my eyes that felt like they were open far too wide. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you in that courtroom. That mouth begs to be kissed.” His hands slid from where they were clutching my lower back, up until they reached my shoulder blades. His face moved into a frown. “Are you okay?”

I just blinked up at his concerned face. “I… Damn.”

He grinned, and any coherent thought I’d been mustering disappeared. “I’m taking that as a compliment.” His head dipped down, and he brushed another soft kiss across my lips. “I came up here to tell you we're going to Muss and Julieta’s house for dinner.”

“Oh. Okay.” Yep, apparently I was malfunctioning. Jesus, I needed to get laid. If a kiss could render me mostly mute, I was obviously out of practice.

I had a brief flash of Rigby above me, looking into my eyes as he filled me with… Argh. Stop, brain, stop. My cheeks flushed, and Rigby gave me another one of those crooked grins.

“I’ll let you get dressed.” He let me go, but his fingers trailed across my skin as he dropped them. He winked as he turned, striding to the door with a cocky swagger. He stopped in the doorway. “Hey, Nova?”

“Yes?” I breathed.

“I can’t wait to kiss you again.” Then he was gone.

Holy fuck, my body was on fire. I was on fire. I was not going to survive Rigby Engman. I really needed another cold shower, but instead, I pulled out a dress from my wardrobe. I had to get my shit under control. But every time I thought about Rigby’s kiss, my body flushed again.

I was so screwed.

Chapter Seventeen

DEVAN

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Mayson,” Elise from Accounts cooed, and I gave her a tight grin while internally groaning. I was going to have to get her transferred, or talk to Carol in HR. Psychological studies show that bonding during high-stress workplace situations is akin to that of sexual relationships. It’s why so many people marry—or fuck—their work colleagues. Throw in the fact that most office workers see each other more than their family or friends, and it’s no wonder that one in every three employees would sleep with a coworker.

Add in a boss who kept getting added to those dumb fucking eligible bachelor lists, and it was a fucking minefield. A stress I didn’t want or need. I would never in a million years date a damn employee. Not Elise. Not my secretary. Not Carol in HR, who was actually fifty-three with three grandchildren and a CPA as a husband.