Page 55 of Fake Wife
“No. I have something else I need you to work on, but I need it kept absolutely private.”
—
My limbs are liquid and my brain is complete mush by the time I finally close my laptop for the night. Or morning, rather. I’ve lost all concept of time while I plan my extraction from Lane Holdings, spending hours on the phone with Merryweather on how to proceed so I can sell my shares, ensure my father will never gain control of any of them, and walk away without consequence.
The main weapon my father will come at me with is my trust, but it’s irrevocable, which means as soon as I came of age at twenty-five and began making withdrawals, he had no say in how I spent it. Plus, the trust was created by Eleanor and not my dad. He’s got jack shit, even though I can already picture the threatening and blustering he’ll do.
Whatever.
The door creaks, opening slowly, and I sit back in my chair as Teagan walks in.
“Hey,” she says, whispering. “It’s late.”
Two o’clock in the morning, based on the clock on my phone. “Yeah.”
God, she’s pretty. Her hair is pulled up, and her face is free of makeup. She’s dressed in pajama shorts and a tight T-shirt, and it’s clear she’s not wearing a bra.
She’s dressed for bed, but came to check on me before doing so.
Sweet. Pretty. Simple. Normal.
Who would have thought I’d ever fall for someone like Teagan Monroe? Not me, but hell if I’m not enjoying the process.
She walks to my desk, fingertips running along the edge of it until she’s at the side, within touching distance. I slide into the desk to hide the erection I’m starting to sprout. Long, sexy legs that go on for miles, nipples hardening beneath her pale blue shirt—I could reach out and yank her right into my lap and hold her against me.
“You okay? You’ve been in here awhile.” Her voice is so quiet, melodic, as if she doesn’t want to disrupt the air around us. And her eyes are narrowed. Worried.
For me.
“I will be. Had some things with work to take care of.” Like walking away from my destiny. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. “What are you doing here?”
I stop resisting what I feel for her and reach out, brushing the back of my hand down her thighs. Goosebumps pebble on her soft flesh and she gasps. She doesn’t jump and run, which is a good sign.
“I was worried about you, wanted to see how you were doing before I went to bed.”
“I’ll be good, Teagan.” I look up at her. The worry is still vivid in her brown eyes, but there’s something else there now, too. Something like desire. And I can definitely work with that.
I run my knuckles back up her thigh, grazing her flesh. Her breath quickens, lips part.
Yeah, she wants me.
I’m tired of holding back.
I stop running my hand up her leg and wrap my hand around the top of her thigh. She gasps again, eyes darting to my hand on her and then back to me. “Is that the only reason you came to see me? Just to check on me?”
Her breath catches and she swallows slowly.
I wait a beat, then two. I’ll give her four before I push her away.
My body is buzzing, blood heating, rock-hard cock pounding against my zipper. If she doesn’t want me, she has to get out of here.
“Corbin,” she says, and it’s a plea. A question.
I push away from the desk, slide my chair in front of her, and grab her hips, sitting her on the corner of my desk so I can move in between her spread legs.
And holy shit. Her shorts are so short I can see everything. She’s not wearing panties.
And she’s wet.
