Chapter 8
She had given him her virginity. Did he remember that?
Before Henriqua could say anything, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Swore. “I have to take this.”
He stepped away, probably instructing his caller to send the police to arrest her. Although he was speaking Hungarian—perhaps it was his grandmother on the phone?
While Henriqua yearned for some sign of the man who had enthralled and seduced her in Indonesia.
Not that their affair should have happened. He’d been her employer. But they’d been alone one afternoon when he hiked out with her to collect samples. It had begun to rain and they’d taken refuge under the pop-up canopy she carried in her daypack. Huddled close enough that their knees and elbows touched, they’d sipped coffee from a thermos. The silence had been charged with awareness.
“I should tell you that I find you very attractive,” he had said abruptly, not looking at her. “I wanted to see how you work—which is as methodically and efficiently as I do. Keep it up. But if I make you uncomfortable, I’ll make other arrangements and won’t come out with you alone again.”
Henriqua swallowed. “I’m only uncomfortable because...” She’d hesitated, then admitted baldly, “I thought it was one-sided. And wrong of me to think about my boss this way...” Her gaze snagged on his mouth and hung there as she wondered for the millionth time how those sternly shaped lips would feel against her own.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too.” His gaze flicked from her mouth to her eyes. His were so dark they seemed black. Bottomless.
He’d looked at her mouth again, making her lips tingle with anticipation. Then he closed in and she knew exactly how he felt. Hot, smooth, firm. Those were the outward sensations, but the way he slanted his mouth to take a deeper taste had made her heart flip and her blood race. He seemed to want to slake a thirst that only grew more fervent as he drank, which stoked a greedy need in her for more of him.
She curled an arm around his neck and angled her torso into his so her breasts mashed against him. He seemed to like that. He groaned with pleasure and slid his hand up to cup them. Massage them. She found herself arching into his hands, uninhibited in showing him how much she enjoyed his touch. It lit a flame in her, which seemed to light one in him. One that doubled and redoubled into unchecked fire. A conflagration that burned high, searing past anything that resembled clear thought, leaving only hot, hot desire.
She made a helpless noise, wishing she wasn’t such a neophyte and knew what came next. How to ask for it.
“This is fast slipping beyond what it was supposed to be,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to her neck. The light suction he applied to her skin curled her toes and made her nipples tighten and her scalp tingle. She moaned, thrilling at all he was doing to her.
“Then I should tell you...” She really wished she was more experienced and had taken precautions by this time in her life. “I’m not protected.”
“I don’t have a condom.” He released her and braced his forearms on his splayed knees, hands in fists as though gripped by pain.
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