Shaken (Twisted Fox #2) - Charity Ferrell Page 0,37
me, only makes his strides longer. He opens the door, walks into the room, and sits behind his desk.
“I know why you’re doing this,” I hiss, slamming the door shut behind us.
He leans back in his chair and spreads his arms out. “Oh, do you?”
“Can you make up your mind on how you feel about me?” I cross my arms. “Anytime you hear about me being with another guy, you act like a dick.”
Okay, he always acts like a dick.
His mood is on steroids when it involves another man and me.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“Really?” I snort. “When I met a guy for drinks here, you randomly charged over to the table and said I needed to work ASAP because we’d gotten slammed out of the blue, which was a lie.”
“This is the place of your employment, not a chance to meet and date guys.”
“Like you don’t meet women?” I shake my head. “Double standard much?”
“Whatever I do, I do it privately. I don’t speak about it, don’t flaunt it—”
“Whoa,” I interrupt, simmering with frustration. “I don’t flaunt anything.”
“You do.” His voice is flat. “You bring guys you’re not interested in around to make me jealous. Here, barbecues, when we hang out with friends.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
It’s true.
For someone who’s sworn off men, I do a crappy job of the swearing part.
Swearing off men means swearing off Archer.
I’m fighting to replace him with someone else, but nothing moves past the first date because he takes over my mind.
“This is such bullshit.” I advance around his desk to his side. “Admit it.”
“Admit what, Georgia?”
“Admit you don’t want me with other men because it makes you jealous.”
He turns in his chair to face me, and a twinge of exasperation laces his voice. “I don’t like you being around other guys. I get jealous.” A pained stare clouds his features. “Does that make you happy? Does that make our working relationship any less messed up?”
I dig my nails into the edge of his desk to prevent myself from falling, his words nearly knocking me on my ass.
His words.
His tone.
His anguish.
I hit buttons I never knew existed.
And from the looks of it, he never knew they existed either.
I wasn’t prepared for that truth bomb.
His confession is a high before the low.
Excitement but then devastation that he’ll never do anything about it.
“Yet”—my throat thickens with heartache—“you don’t want to be with me.”
He lifts his hands, curling them around my waist, and stares up at me. “We can’t be together, Georgia.”
The anguish is gone.
Vulnerability in its place.
“Why not?” I choke out.
“It’s too complicated.” He gives my hips a rough squeeze. “You’re my partner’s sister. You’re too young. You’re my employee. I don’t do relationships.” He shakes his head. “A long list of additional reasons as well.”
“You don’t do relationships, yet you were engaged?” I shake my head. “That doesn’t … it doesn’t make sense.”
“My failed engagement is what taught me that I don’t do relationships.” He slides his hands up and down my waist, his touch setting me on fire. “We have enough problems as it is. Us being together would create more tension when it fell apart. Our friends would know, and so far, we’re finally doing a halfway decent job of being civil toward each other. Think about how that’d go back to hate.” His hands shift to my thighs, gripping them. “If something were to happen in this office, if I took you to my bed again, if I fucked you again …” His voice trails off.
I shiver in his arms.
“It’d lead to nothing but problems.”
“Do you want to fuck me again?”
“Every time I look at you, I want to touch you. I have to clench my hands to stop myself. I have no right to be jealous, and I’m working on that, trust me.”
He drops his head, his forehead against my stomach, and I massage his scalp, running my hand through his hair.
“What if I’m willing to take that risk?”
He expels a long breath when he pulls away. “Georgia, half the time, we can barely stand to be in the same room.”
“Because we’re running,” I say, my voice trembling. “We’re failing ourselves in fear. My brother, he’d understand—”
“It’s not only about him, Georgia. I’m fucked up in the head. I’ve done fucked-up shit.”
“We all have, Archer.” I cup his face in my hands. “We’re human.”
He repeatedly shakes his head.
I fall to my knees, causing his hands to slide up underneath my armpits, so we’re level. “Talk to