it be like to be able to do that? She knew she wanted that despite it being impossible, not because it was impossible.
In her mind, she could close her eyes and imagine waking up to that jawline every morning. She wanted to hear him muttering and cursing over fixing things in a small house that they shared. He made her think of white picket fences and family meals. It wasn’t what her parents wanted for her—charity galas and auxiliary boards—but she didn’t care. She’d never felt like she really fit anyway, which made her good at her job. She could always see everything that could go wrong, so she fixed it. The picture in her head of what kind of life she could have with Patrick—if he wasn’t a priest and he wanted to make a life with her—felt like it fit. Thinking about it felt like sinking into a warm bath.
And she could see this beyond the undeniable sexual charge between them now. She could see growing old with Patrick, taking care of him the way he took care of everyone else.
“Just give me another minute.” He glanced down at her. God, it was unbearable to be this close to him without being able to touch him. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.
“Just yank it.” Sasha was getting too excited being this close to him. She wasn’t sure what she might do if she didn’t get away from him and out of this office right fucking now.
“No.”
His being so calm about it made it even worse. “Why not?” It wasn’t even that much hair.
“I like your hair attached to your head.” He looked down and met her gaze. She froze and stopped struggling.
Even though he’d referred to their mutual attraction, he’d never mentioned anything in particular that he liked about her appearance before. The idea that she affected him in a primal and visceral way and not just in his head was appealing. She didn’t understand it when she usually felt the opposite—she’d always worried that the men of her acquaintance cared more about what she looked like than what she felt or thought.
Sasha maneuvered the few millimeters between them and planted her lips against his. And then she didn’t do anything else because this was a huge mistake. But that didn’t make her pull away.
* * *
—
PATRICK HADN’T BEEN KISSED in well over a decade. Until Sasha planted her pillow-soft lips against his, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. This was a terrible idea. Sister Cortona could walk back in at any moment, and then she’d for sure report him.
The other night had been too far, but this—her mouth against his, open and breathing her fresh minty breath into his mouth. It was ruin. She was ruin. And he wasn’t going to let it go.
They stood there for so long, lip to lip, that she started to pull away. The part of him that was touch-starved and lonely and needed relief more desperately than he did salvation grabbed at her waist and stopped her. Instead of pulling away, she bent her head toward where his watch was still tangled up in the silk of her hair and licked his lower lip with her tongue.
He shuddered at her touch and flexed his palm against her. She let out a throaty laugh/moan hybrid, and he broke.
He could have gotten her hair untangled faster, but he’d been greedy for a reason to keep her near. And—God help him—he wasn’t sorry at all now that her body was pressed against his, and their tongues danced.
He’d thought about the taste of her so much, and the reality was so much better than he’d ever imagined. He was a starving man, and she’d put a banquet in front of him. If he could have managed it without hurting her, he would have her bent over his desk and begging for him to give her the release she’d given herself in front of him the other night.
It was depraved, but he was past caring.
Their bodies moved against each other awkwardly until he dropped the hand that was stuck to her and cupped the back of her head. That only brought her closer, and he groaned and cursed.
She turned him into a man that he’d forgotten he’d ever been—selfish, greedy, a man who wanted things that he couldn’t have. She’d ruined his hard-fought contentment, but somehow it didn’t take the legs out from under him. He felt more alive than