Zack reached into his pocket and took out an overly familiar velvet box. He set it on the edge of her desk, his expression grim. “And now it continues. And every single person working in the this office has to believe it, too.”
“Zack this can’t. It has to end.”
“It will. After. And you can take as much money as you need for a start-up. You can have my blessing, hell, you can have free Roasted coffee for the first five years. But I want this deal to go through.”
“Ironic that you’re trying to convince him of your business ethics by using a lie,” she said, annoyance spiking inside her.
“Odd that it’s necessary, too, don’t you think?”
“He’s a nice man.”
“And a romantic, it seems. He loves you. He wants to make sure he sees us together as a couple again while he’s here.”
“Tangled web,” she snapped, putting her pencil down on the desk.
“Isn’t it?”
The air between them seemed to crackle, everything slowing for a moment, the silence so tense and brittle she was certain she could splinter it into tiny pieces if she spoke.
“Put it on,” he said, looking at the ring.
“I gave it back,” she said tightly.
“Clara, I need you to do this for me.”
She fought the urge to make a rude gesture with a different finger than the one meant for a ring and grabbed the box, opened the lid and slid the ring on. “There.”
“Come on.”
“What?”
“We have to make an announcement.”
“Zack …”
“We’re going to see this through, right? Then you can leave. Whatever you need to do, you can go do it, but finish this with me.”
“Fine.” She stood up and rounded the desk, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to him. Heat exploded in her, stronger than she remembered, more arousing than anything had a right to be.
Instantly she was assaulted by images of their night together. His mouth, his hands, the way it had felt when he was over her, in her. It was torture. She clenched her hands into fists and the heavy ring band bit into her fingers.
There was a small group of employees who worked on her floor, their desks clustered in the center of the room. Roasted’s office had a social atmosphere, which Zack had always believed made for optimum creativity. Because Zack was a great boss, the kind who made everyone feel appreciated, all the time.
And he never, ever showed the dark, tortured side of himself she’d seen in Chiang Mai. He never showed the intense, sexual side of himself, either. But she’d seen it. She’d felt it.
“Clara and I have an announcement to make.”
Ten heads instantly popped up, eyes trained on her and Zack. Her heart started pounding, her palms sweating. It was one thing to lie to a man she’d never met before. A thing she hated. But it was really quite another to lie to people she worked with every day. People who she considered her friends.
“We’re getting married,” he said.
“Pay up.” Cynthia, a woman with gray hair and pronounced smile lines turned to Jess, a twenty-something computer whiz who did their online marketing.
Jess swore and took his wallet out.
“What is this?” Clara asked.
“Congratulations,” Cynthia said, beaming. “We had bets placed on this. I bet you would get married. Most everyone changed sides when Mr. Parsons got engaged to someone else. But I held out. And now I’m collecting.”
“Unbelievable,” Clara muttered. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this revelation, either. A little bit flattered that people believed it was possible.
“Clearly I’m not giving people enough work to do,” Zack said.
“Kiss her!” This from Jess, who undoubtedly considered it a consolation prize.
Everything inside Clara seized up, her muscles locking tight. Zack looked down at her, his fingers brushing her jaw. He dipped his head and kissed her. A perfectly appropriate kiss to give her in front of his employees. Nothing scandalous or overly sexual. But it grabbed hold of her world and shook it completely. Shook her.
When he lifted his head there was a smattering of applause. “Feel free to spread the news,” Zack said, lacing his fingers through hers and leading her toward his office.
He closed the door tightly behind him, taking long strides to the far window that overlooked the bay, his back turned to her.
“Good show,” she said icily.
He looked over his shoulder. “You could have been a little less stiff,” he said.
“You.” She strode across the room, embracing the anger, unrest and desire that was rioting through her. “You.” She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and stretched up onto her toes, kissing him with every last ounce of passion and frustration that she felt.
He locked his arm around her waist and drew her up tight against his body, his erection hard and hot against her. He spun them around and backed her against the wall, pressing her against the hard surface, his lips hungry as he tasted her, feasted on her.
She wrapped her arms around him, sifted her fingers through his thick brown hair, holding him to her as she returned each stroke and thrust of his tongue. The days of not touching him, thinking of him and denying herself the pleasure of even seeing in him, crashed in on her, fueled her desperation.
She growled in frustration, needing more, faster. Now. She pushed his jacket down his arms and onto the floor, grabbing the knot on his tie and tugging it down as he put his hands on her thighs and pushed the hem of her skirt up. She wrapped one leg around his calf and arched against him.
He tore his mouth away from hers and put his palm flat on the wall behind them, a short, sharp curse punctuated by heavy breaths escaped his lips.
The full horror of what she’d done hit her all at once, like getting a bucket of freezing water dumped in her face. She echoed his choice of swear word and ducked beneath his arm, leaning forward and bracing herself on his desk.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” she said.
“For more than one reason.”
“Why don’t you list them?” she said sharply.
“Fine. I’ll list them. We said one night. And that kind of kiss doesn’t stop at just a kiss. The second reason is that you mean more to me than this,” he said.
“Than what?”
“Than an angry make out session against a wall. Than you sneaking around, avoiding me, because we slept together. You mean more to me than sex.”
That cut. And maybe it shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t separate having sex with Zack from the emotions she felt for him. She loved him; sex had been an expression of that. Being joined to him, intimate with him, it had been everything.
But not to him. To him, the sex was separate from the feeling.
“Great. But I apparently don’t mean so much to you that you won’t use me as a pretend fiancée.” Her argument was thin, because frankly, if her feelings for him were platonic, the engagement thing would be nothing big at all.
But her feelings weren’t platonic. Not even close.
“Then leave, Clara. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. I’m not holding