Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,53

dark as he grins up at me. “I know.”

He kicks off his shoes and shucks the pants. I ease the boxers down his thighs until we’re in a place that’s new, fully naked, skin-to-skin, comfortable and warm.

His hands learn every curve and valley of me, and I explore the rugged terrain of his muscles, belly, and thighs. We take our time, looking, kissing, touching, memorizing textures and those unexpected spots that elicit a sharp intake of breath.

When he finally slides into my body this time, it’s a connection, a perfect fit. I clutch his back, his face tucked against my ear. He moves slowly, sinuously, like a spool of ribbon unfurling.

I’m moved, emotionally caught, the pleasure in it not purely from the muscles and the friction, but the chorus of our bodies, two melodies that intertwine.

There’s no rapid-fire plunging, no gasping. Just a gentle pressure that gradually increases in intensity, like a sunrise, like dawn.

We hold each other, reveling in each incremental rise, until the rhythm takes a life of its own. My body clenches around him, pulsing, drawing life from him into me with an orgasm that is effortless, smooth, and deep. He responds, spilling out, breathing harder, his arms so tight around me that I’m not sure where I end and he begins.

We come down into a relaxation that melts us to the bed. My hair is everywhere. Our bodies are sprawled in every direction.

But I feel such peace.

I don’t have to be in charge here. Not like at the deli. Or with my mom and sister. I’m not responsible for anyone or anything in this moment.

I’m just a woman, in bed with an incredible man. As he softly kisses my head through my hair, I realize this is more than a bang in the backroom of my workplace.

I have something very real, and very perfect.

25

Jace

I wake in my condo with a start. Something’s off.

I roll over to Nova.

She’s not there.

The bed is cold.

I look at the clock.

Almost seven? It’s time to make the bread!

I jump up, glancing around. Damn! I hurry to the bathroom. Empty.

When I flip on the light in the living room, I spot a sheet of paper. I pick it up.

Jason—I’ve had enough. I never want to see you again.

What?

My stomach hollows out, then I realize there’s a second page.

April Fools!

My favorite holiday.

Oh, I’m going to get her good for that.

There’s more.

Didn’t want to wake you. Lamonte will help me with the bread. No rush!

I set the pages down.

But my heart won’t stop hammering.

She’s gone.

I didn’t confess.

All those chances last night.

But the evening…it was so…

Images flash through my memory. Nova sprawled on my sofa. Taking off her bra. Photographs. Sighs. That pure perfection in my bed. The contentedness. The rightness.

There has to be a way to confess what I’ve done without killing all that. My being Jace Pickle should change nothing.

Except trust.

The trust she has felt in no one, not even her own mother. The trust she lost, realizing someone was taking money from the safe at the deli.

The trust she placed in me, as part of her team, a trust that expanded to her bed, her passion, her vulnerability.

And I’ve broken it.

I have to make this right.

When I arrive at the deli half an hour later, an unfamiliar middle-aged man stands in front of the open cabinet that houses the safe.

My whole body goes on alert. “Who the hell are you?” I demand.

Lamonte emerges from Bertha carrying two sacks of flour. “Stand down, big man, this is the locksmith to fix the safe. Apparently, the dial’s busted.”

He drops the bags on the mixing table and heads back to the pantry.

Right. Nova said she hired someone to show her how to recalibrate the combination when we were ready to lock out the thief, if we ever caught him. Interesting that she didn’t tell Lamonte the real reason why.

I walk over to her office door, which is open only a crack.

She’s on the phone. When she sees me, she waves me inside and motions for me to close the door.

“Look, I said I had a narrow window for you to install this thing. If you can’t be here by eight o’clock, I don’t want you here at all.”

She gives me a look of abject frustration.

“Then you have to come after we close. The whole point is to put the cameras in so no one on staff knows they’re there.”

She goes quiet again.

“Okay. Four o’clock is fine. I’ll ask my cleaning crew to wait until you’re