She lets go of my wrists and rests her hands, no longer cold and clammy, on my cheeks. The contact seems to sear my skin, and I want her hands everywhere on me, exploring, stroking, fondling and loving.
Just as I want to—
“Uh… Ahem, guys.”
I jerk back and curse under my breath. The meeting with Mira.
Paige’s face is suddenly bright red, but at least she no longer has that hurt and angry look. Her lips swollen and her eyes dilated, she looks like a woman who’s been thoroughly kissed.
“Don’t suppose you’ve had time for coffee yet,” Mira says, barely containing a schoolgirl smirk.
“Ah, not yet.” I stand and help Paige up. She takes her seat again.
“Well, why don’t you get some? You know, take that edge off. So we can actually have a productive discussion?”
Paige is on her feet immediately. “I’ll get it for y—”
“You sit back down,” I say. Her eyes and nose are still red—well, more like pink now—and I don’t want the kitchen staff to see her like this. Besides, I don’t know if it’s good for her to be on her feet too much anyway. “I’ll get it.”
She sits, and I push her chair at the desk. “And relax. That’s an order.”
* * *
Paige
Ryder goes for the coffee, leaving Mira and me alone in the room. “Nice to have you back,” she says.
Her dark hair, cut Cleopatra style, is exceptionally glossy under the light, and she’s wearing a black dress with a patent leather belt cinched tight around her waist. Her stilettos look long and sharp enough to kill a crocodile, with golden edging at the tips of the heels. The red lipstick is stark against her milky skin.
“Thanks,” I say. It seems kind of inadequate after the display she just saw. But she and I aren’t close enough to chit-chat about that kind of personal stuff.
“So I take it the wedding’s on?”
“If he can give me the answer I asked for, yes.”
Her dark brows pinch together into a sharp V. She takes a seat in front of my desk. “What answer?”
“It’s…kind of personal.”
“Okay. But this ‘answer’ determines whether or not you’re going to show up for your wedding?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
She gives me a very, very penetrating look. “Is this some kind of test?”
“Not at all.”
“Then why the hell were you kissing him like you want him for brunch? You playing a game?”
“Not a game. Something very important to me.”
She levels an absolutely flat stare at me. “More important than your precious friend Renni?”
“What?”