Falling for Your Boss - Emma St. Clair Page 0,68

air shifts slightly. “How old were you when you lost your mama?”

Normally, I can take just about anything my mother dishes out. I’m used to the way she leaps over boundaries, broaches uncomfortable conversations, and holds nothing back. But I can feel the way Zoey stiffens at the turn in conversation.

“Mama,” I chide.

“It’s okay,” Zoey says, her voice soft.

Her eyes meet mine, and I feel a distinct pinch in my chest, like a corner of my heart has been folded down, bookmarking this moment. Despite the fact that we aren’t alone at the table, something intimate stretches between us. Under the table, I find her thigh and give it a squeeze just above the knee, letting my hand rest there, and doing my best not to take liberties with the smooth stretch of skin I’d like to explore. Another time.

I hope.

“We lost her when we were in high school. It was a car accident. She and Zane were together. He’s fine, just a little scar.”

I blow out a breath, wishing I could do something to make this better. To make it untrue. I can read the loss in Zoey’s face, and also the strength. I already admired and respected her, but those feelings expand with the knowledge that she lost her mother and still became this amazing woman, untinged by sadness or bitterness.

“I’m so sorry you lost her,” I say, giving her leg another gentle squeeze.

Zoey nods and smiles. “Me too.”

I want to say more, how I know her mother would be so proud of her, but not right here in front of my parents. As if she can sense my mood shift, Mama stands, patting Zoey on the shoulder before grabbing her coffee mug in one hand and my daddy’s flannel shirt in the other.

“We’re going to finish up the evening on the porch swing.”

“Thank you so much,” Zoey says. “Everything was delicious.”

“We’re so glad to have you, sweetie. Hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of you.” She winks as she drags Daddy toward the door. “Now, don’t mind us. We’ll be on the south side of the house having a little adult time.”

I groan, covering my eyes with my hands. “Mama.”

“Norah,” Daddy chides. “That is quite enough. No need to broadcast our untoward intentions to such young ears.”

“Young ears?” Mama teases, giving me a look.

“Don’t let the screen door hit you on the way out,” I call as they disappear out the back door. Mama’s giggle fades into the night, and I hear the click of toenails as one of the ranch dogs trots after them.

I’m almost afraid to look at Zoey. But when I do, she’s grinning at me. “I feel like I’ve seen a whole new side to you.”

“A good side or a bad side?”

She considers. “Maybe the real side. The full side.”

I take a sip of my coffee, feeling bold, and aware of my palm still resting on her bare thigh. I feel the same way about her. “And what do you think?”

If my fingers take on a life of their own and begin tracing a few inches of skin on her leg, I can’t help myself. And when Zoey catches her breath, her eyes looking slightly glazed, I feel like a pirate who’s just laid claim to a treasure. One I plan to keep close and guard with my life.

“I … don’t know. It’s a little hard to think with you doing that.”

“Doing what?”

My voice drops to a gritty register that I barely recognize, and I can’t seem to control my fingertips, which drag lightly up her leg. Not anywhere close to even PG-13 territory, but enough that Zoey’s breath quickens.

She lunges, grabbing my hand with hers and stopping its motion. But this bumps our shoulders together and leaves our faces only inches apart.

“Gavin,” she whispers, drawing my attention to her lips, which stay slightly parted.

I’ve made a study of her lips over the years, committing them to memory, but I’ve never been close enough to notice the tiny freckle just at the edge of her lower lip, close to the corner.

There is no conscious thought involved when I close the distance between us, pressing my mouth to that freckle. A small gasp escapes her, causing her lips to barely brush against mine.

It’s not even a real kiss, and yet the impact of it is seismic. Everything in me shifts, like the very geography of my body and soul have moved, cracking and dragging against each other like tectonic plates. How can a

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