erect than others—in a public byway.
Which, strangely, when Turner thought more about it, actually gave him a good idea.
“Look,” he said as he tried to detach himself from her. But the moment he got her arms freed from around his neck, she was hooking her ankle around his calf. Then, when he managed to free his leg from hers, she had her hands tangled in his shirtfront. “Why don’t you go home,” he suggested as he did the disengagement shuffle again and stepped awkwardly to the side to sabotage her renewed efforts. “I think maybe you need to lie down.”
She tittered at that. Honestly tittered. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Becca titter before—he hadn’t even realized she had titter capabilities. “I’m not the only one who needs to lie down,” she said.
Then she wrapped an arm around his waist which Turner immediately grabbed and unwrapped again. Good God, what had gotten into her to be throwing herself at him like this?
“Becca,” he repeated, still fighting off her maneuvers. Good God, what had gotten into him to be fighting her off again? Oh, yeah. The job. His career. His livelihood. Food on the table. Clothes on his back. A roof over his head during the cold winter months ahead.
She grabbed his cock, and all he could think was, Who needs food and shelter?
“Go home, Becca,” he said again, more adamantly this time, dislodging her greedy fingers. “I really think it would be better if you took the afternoon off.”
She smiled. “I’d rather take your clothes off.”
Oh, he really should have seen that one coming. Turner squeezed his eyes shut tight. Damn. Did anything not have a sexual connotation when you were in a position like this? Dammit. Position. That was another one.
“Becca…” He tried again, using his cautionary tone of voice. He reflected for a minute. Nope. No double entendres in that. Now, had he said he was using his missionary tone of voice…?
“I don’t want to go home alone,” she cooed. “I want you to come with me.”
“I have to go back into the meeting and try to explain why you and I left it, and then suck up and kiss ass until I’ve made it all better.”
“I’d rather have you suck on me and kiss my ass.”
Oh, he should have seen that one coming, too.
“Becca…” he murmured yet again. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, he told her, “Look. If you’ll go home, I promise, after we’re finished here, I’ll come over, and then you and I can talk.”
She smiled, a hot, aroused, predatory sort of smile. “Turner, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really interested in talking right now.”
Maybe not, he thought. But they were going to do that, too. Either before or after—or, hell, even during—because he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Dammit. Bottom. There was another one. Somehow, he and Becca were going to come—dammit—to terms with this thing, whatever it was.
“Then I promise,” he said, “that you and I can do whatever you want when I get to your place.” Provided I get to do a little of what I want, too, he added to himself. And strangely, that meant talking. “Just go home now, and I’ll see you later. Okay?”
She pouted again, clearly not happy about the state of affairs—dammit—but nodded reluctantly, anyway. “My coat’s in my cubicle,” she said.
“I’ll get it for you,” he told her, thinking it would probably be best if she just lay—dammit—low for now.
He hurried back into the office, and as he passed the glass-enclosed boardroom full of people gazing expectantly back at him, he held up one index finger in the internationally recognized sign language for “Hold that thought” and continued on to Becca’s cubicle. There, he collected her coat, did the “Hold that thought” thing again when he passed the boardroom a second time—punctuating it with a flourish of Becca’s coat in the internationally recognized sign language for “I’m taking a woman her coat”—and sped out into the hallway again.
He half expected to find her disrobing, but thankfully, she was leaning against the wall where he’d left her, looking agitated, irritated, exasperated, aggravated, frustrated and a bunch of other-ateds that hadn’t even been invented yet. Very, very gingerly, Turner approached her, holding her coat at arm’s length.
“Here,” he said simply.
She took the coat from him and shrugged into it. “Remember. You promised to spend the afternoon with me at my place. You promised, Turner.”
“I promise I’ll come—” dammit “—over as soon as