A Moment Like You (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,9

was ready and I’d be in my room, she stared at me slack-jawed and said, “You’re one of my best friends and part of this family. I expect you to be with us.”

I’ve never seen someone so offended at me for not wanting to attend her family and close friends party.

I could be in my room streaming romantic comedies and eating ice cream. Instead, I’m at a table sitting next to Satan’s spawn, drinking the most delicious Bellini created on this planet, dipping strawberries in melted dark chocolate, and fantasizing about…well, him.

One can hate a person and want to be touched by his big hands, licked by his tongue, or bitten…

Yes, baby, I want it rough tonight.

Have I mentioned he’s hot?

It’d be pretty hypocritical of me to say that I’m not attracted to my boss when he looks so goddamn sexy. Tonight, more than usual with his black button-down shirt, his hair disheveled, and wearing a pair of jeans. This is so unlike him, yet, he looks as hot as he does when he wears suits.

I wish I was immune to him. It’s hard to ignore a guy who looks like him. The whole arrogant attitude, mixed with those fitted Brioni suits, and the trimmed body… Okay, I have a slight crush, which is becoming a problem.

During my free time—which isn’t much—I ponder about my issue and the possible solutions.

My first thought is usually about how would he look completely naked? Understandably, it’s the wrong path, so I go into the second thought as fast as I can. This happens to be the most important which is, how can I stop fantasizing about him?

The only two solutions I’ve found so far are one, dating a hotter guy. It’s not feasible, since I don’t have time to date. Number two could be more satisfying, too risky, and impossible at best. What if we fuck and purge the attraction?

I suck on my bottom lip, press my legs together, and close my eyes for a second as I imagine him running his hand up my skirt and…

Okay, horny, tipsy, and lonely are a lethal combination. No one knows that better than me. The last time this perfect storm occurred I ended up dating Trey Lockwood. Not my proudest moment. The first two weeks were like a Jennifer Anniston romcom. Afterward it was an episode from All My Children. I was the mistress. The asshole had a wife and two kids in Connecticut—and a girlfriend in New Jersey.

See, if I had my life together, I wouldn’t fall for guys like Trey, or yearn for what my siblings and friends have—a loving partner. Nor would I be longing after my boss as if he was the last strawberry dipped in dark chocolate.

I’d be at home with my significant other spending quality time. I wouldn’t be fantasizing about the ways that my boss could bend me over a table and fuck me.

“Are you okay?” Henry asks with his sexy low voice.

He is so close that I can feel how his words run all the down my ears and make their way into my body like thick, warm syrup. I wish it was his hands though.

When I open my eyes, I realize his lips are almost touching my earlobe and his sandalwood scent caresses my nostrils. His green eyes bore into mine. Sometimes I wish I knew what he’s thinking, others I wish he…

Okay, Trey wasn’t the last mistake I made. It was Henry Aldridge three weeks ago, while he… I’m not sure if he was mourning his father or yearning the childhood he never had.

Henry and I didn’t have sex; we had a moment. Well I had a moment. I’m not sure about him.

My heart skips just as I recall my hand touching is firm jaw, our eyes connected, and his lips parted so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath on my face. He bent his head, and our mouths touched.

For me, it was the usual “the world stopped spinning and everything around us disappeared” moment. When I say usual, I mean that I’ve heard of that phenomenon. My friends have told me about it happening to them, but it was the first time it happened to me.

At that moment, I wanted to believe that something as crazy and incoherent as Henry and me could happen in this universe.

It can’t.

I smile at him and look away. What’s the point of remembering the best kiss I’ve ever had when I know it meant