been divorced and had a few kids, we could maybe try and see each other.”
“What?” he snaps again. “You won’t see me because I don’t have children? That’s fucking ridiculous, Anderson. Can you hear yourself right now?”
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” I warn him.
“Shut up, and come to lunch with me.” He takes me into his arms, and his lips drop to my neck. Is he for real? “Tristan.” I sigh. Jeez. “Stop it.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t like me, because I know you do.”
“I do. I’m not denying it. I adore you.”
“So?”
“I don’t like you . . . like that.”
He stares at me, as if trying to process my words. “Like what?”
I’m just going to have to come out with it. “Tris, you aren’t exactly boyfriend material for me.”
“What?” he snaps in an outrage. He points to his chest. “I’m . . . not boyfriend material?” he whispers. “I’m great fucking boyfriend material, Claire.”
I exhale . . . here we go. He’s angry now. “No. You’re not.”
“If anyone around here is not partner material, it’s you.”
I cross my arms and watch him as he begins to pace, furious at my rejection.
“You, Claire Anderson . . . are too old for me.”
“I know.”
“And you”—he points at me—“have too many children.”
“Precisely.”
“And I’m not into kids. Especially when they aren’t mine.”
I hold my hands out wide. “Like I said.”
“And I don’t want to be with someone who can’t be spontaneous, anyway.”
“Good. You shouldn’t.” I smile.
“Don’t be fucking condescending, Anderson.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you finished?”
“No. I’m not,” he growls. “You piss me off.”
“I gathered that.”
“Stop it.”
I pull him into my arms and run my fingers through his dark hair. His big beautiful brown eyes search mine, and he puts his hands on my hips. “You really are a beautiful man, Tris,” I whisper.
He pulls me closer.
“You deserve the best.” I kiss his lips as I run my fingers through his stubble. “I’m not her; I’m sorry. I wish I was. I really do. We are at different stages of our lives. You are just about to settle down and start a family, and I am finishing with mine.”
“Stop talking.”
“We both know that this isn’t going anywhere. I’m not a casual-sex kind of person, and you are.”
“Shut the fuck up, Anderson.” He kisses me softly and with just the right amount of tongue. My stomach flutters. “One last time?” he whispers against my lips.
God, it’s so tempting . . . “No.”
He pushes me up against the wall and slides his hand up my skirt. “Let me fuck you on your desk.” His mouth drops to my neck, and I giggle as I look up at the ceiling. “I told you I was going to do it. Right here, right now.”
“Tristan.” I laugh as I push him off me. “You gave me an option: France or my desk. I took France. You don’t get the desk. Now you need to go.”
He stares at me for a moment. “You’re actually serious about this?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to see me ever again?” He frowns.
“No.”
His mouth falls open. He really is shocked. “But we had the best weekend.”
“I know. It completely sucks that you’re a soul-sucking bastard player.” I turn him and push him toward the door. “Now, I need to work.”
He chuckles, amused at my description. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” He smirks.
I laugh and keep pushing him toward the door.
“You’re missing out on some magical dick.” He grabs his crotch.
“Undoubtedly.”
We get to the door, and he turns toward me. We stare at each other for a moment, and he steps forward and pins me to the door. He grabs my face in his hands, and his tongue swipes through my open lips. My knees weaken, and he grinds his hard cock up against me. He turns my head and puts his mouth to my ear. “Guess what, Anderson?” he whispers.
“What?” I smile.
“We’re not over . . . till . . . I say we’re over.”
He pulls off me and leaves. The door clicks, and my chest rises and falls as I stare at the back of it. A broad smile crosses my face.
Tristan fucking Miles.
I sit back down at my desk and get back to work, and five minutes later my door bursts open. “Are you serious?” Marley gasps as she closes it behind her. “What the fuck did I just see?” she whispers.
“Nothing.” I open my email. “Forget you saw it.”
“Claire Anderson. I demand to know what the hell is going