Last Name - Dr. Rebecca Sharp Page 0,25

this fling into forever.

“James…” she pleaded my name, and it teetered on the edge between wanting more and wanting me to stop.

But I didn’t want to stop.

The air stilled, desire suspended like stars between us.

Here, there was no alcohol. No lights. No distractions. And I wanted her a thousand times more than I had in Vegas because of it.

My eyes closed and I felt the soft intake of her breath against my mouth, steeling herself for my kiss. A wisp of her hair brushed against my cheek as she placed her palm on my chest.

The fire let out a loud pop, like a gunshot warning of what could happen if we didn’t stop.

And it was a warning she heeded.

Carrie pulled back with a gasp. Stepping out of my hold and covering her mouth with her hand, she shook her head and let out a laugh strained with disbelief.

As though she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for me again.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she stated with a voice that was firm but weighted with unfulfilled desire.

“Carrie—” I broke off as she turned and fled, leaving me standing with a fire that refused to be put out. “Dammit,” I said under my breath.

With a low growl, I folded my arms and watched until she disappeared. Until I heard her car rumble over the cobblestone drive as she left.

I always thought I’d end up married at some point, but this wasn’t how I’d imagined it either. I understood her concern. Her frustration. Her determination to be disengaged from me. But I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t let herself want me.

Clenching my jaw, I speared a hand through my hair and looked back at the house, catching Suzanne and my mother watching me with interest from the kitchen window.

Great.

I turned away from them and faced the truth.

I wanted her. I wanted Carrie.

All I had to do was figure out how to convince her it was okay to want me back.

I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to avoid my husband—James. And my boss.

I stared down my empty coffee cup sitting perfectly pitched in the center of my desk. I’d placed it back exactly where James had dropped it off earlier this morning—just like he’d done every morning since the dinner at his brother’s place. And I pretended as though if I put it back in the exact same spot, it would negate the fact that I’d enjoyed it.

I didn’t want to enjoy it.

I didn’t want to be grateful. Or feel special. Or any of those other things that came along with his attentions.

I wanted to avoid him and all memory of our marriage before I found myself in real trouble.

My email pinged and my stomach tightened when my boss’ name showed up.

I’ll swing by your office at twelve-thirty and we can ride over together.

-Mr. Arden

I grumbled under my breath.

He hadn’t mentioned our marriage. Or Vegas. Or my past. Or even anything about the almost-kiss—the almost-one-more-mistake—that happened that night.

But he did things like this—like always referring to himself as Mr. Arden in his messages to me, the unspoken reminder screaming out at me that I was Mrs. Arden.

I’d even tried to yell at him for bringing me coffee on Wednesday morning, telling him that he shouldn’t be showing me favor in front of the entire staff—especially when some of them knew he was going to let me go but then didn’t.

His response?

Thursday morning, the Starbucks in the lobby was instructed to give a free cold-brew coffee to anyone with an employee badge—though he’d still hand-delivered mine.

I tried to ignore him.

I really, really did.

But he seemed to take increasing joy in complimenting me when I tried my hardest not to stand out. In making me laugh when I was determined to stay serious and focused on my job.

And in making me want him when nothing good could come of it.

I’d fallen for my boss once.

And in doing so, I’d lost my fiancé, my family, my home, and a huge chunk of my confidence.

Tahoe was where I was supposed to start over, not make the same mistake twice.

“Care?”

It felt like I blinked and it was half-past noon and James was lounging against the doorframe to my office. God, did his suits get more fitted as the week went on?

My pulse picked up its pace, heat racing through my blood.

Good Lord. I hoped those suits took a break on Sunday. Even God took a break on Sunday.

I swallowed and met his dancing stare.

He knew calling