Swapping More Than Saliva

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't sweet at all.

It was the kind of kiss that felt like warfare. His mouth was claiming mine like he had every right to it, one hand sliding into my hair, the other holding my waist hard enough I felt my ribs bruising. And I—

God help me.

I kissed him back.

Not because I wanted to. Not because this made any logical sense. But because my brain had apparently short-circuited and my body had decided that self-preservation was optional.

His tongue swept against mine and I made a sound I'd never made before; it was desperate and broken and completely mortifying. He pulled back just enough to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, and he was breathing hard.

"That," he said roughly, "was not in my plan."

I shoved at his chest. Hard. "Get off—"

"You kissed me back."

"I did not—"

"You moaned."

My face went nuclear. "I didn't—that wasn't—you can't just—"

"Can't just what?" He caught my wrists and pinned them against the shelf above my head with one hand. "Kiss you? Touch you? Make you admit you've been thinking about this since the coffee shop?"

"I haven't—"

"Liar." His free hand slid down my side possessively. "Your pulse is racing. You're breathing like you just ran a marathon. And you're not telling me to stop."

Because I can't think. Because every nerve ending in my body is on fire and I've apparently lost my fucking mind.

"This is—" I tried to twist away but he held firm. "This is sexual harassment—"

"Is it?" His mouth brushed against my jaw. "Because it seems pretty mutual to me."

"It's not—I don't even know you—"

"Yes you do." He pulled back to look at me, and there was something raw in his expression that made my stomach flip. "You've known me longer than you think."

What?

Before I could ask what the hell that meant, his mouth was on mine again—hungrier this time, more disrespectfully. His hand released my wrists only to slide into my hair and tilted my head back to deepen the kiss until I couldn't remember why this was a bad idea.

Focus. Think. You need to—

But thinking was impossible when his other hand was mapping the curve of my waist, and pressing his fingers into my hip through the fabric of my blouse. When his body was pressed against mine and I could feel every hard line of him, could feel exactly how much he wanted this.

Wanted me.

And that thought, that absolutely insane thought, made something reset in my brain.

He wants you. Use it.

I went still in his arms.

He noticed immediately, pulled back an inch. "Anella?"

I looked up at him through my lashes, tried to remember how to breathe. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can't help myself." His thumb traced my bottom lip. "I've wanted to do this since the first time I saw you."

Liar. You've been sleeping with Kerry.

But I didn't say that. Instead, I let my hands slide up his chest—slowly—and watched the way his eyes darkened.

"You don't even know me," I said softly.

"I know enough."

"Do you?" I tilted my head, studied him. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're using me to get to June."

Something flashed across his face. "That's not—"

"Or maybe you just like messing with people." I pressed closer, felt him suck in a breath. "Maybe this is all a game to you."

"It's not a game." His voice was strained. "You have no idea what you do to me—"

"Then tell me." I slid one hand up to cup his jaw, felt the muscle jump under my palm. "Tell me what you want."

He stared at me for a long moment, breathing hard, looking like a man barely holding onto control.

Then he kissed me again.

This time it was different. It was slower, like he was trying to memorize the taste of me. His hands roamed everywhere they could reach, and I let him, let myself sink into the horrible wonderful feeling of being wanted this desperately.

This is insane. This is completely insane.

But it was also working.

Because he was distracted. Off-balance. And if I could just keep him like this, keep him focused on this instead of whatever game he was playing with June and Kerry, maybe I could figure out what he actually wanted.

The bonus. Remember the bonus. Fifty thousand dollars. Jericho's surgery.

His mouth moved to my neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and I had to bite back a moan.

"You're so—" He broke off, breathing hard against my throat. "God, you're so—"

"So what?" I managed.

"Perfect." His hands slid lower to grab my thighs. "Do you have any idea how long I've—"

The door rattled.

We both froze.

"Anella?" June's voice, muffled through the door. "You in there?"

Oh my God.

Foxe pulled back immediately, releasing me so fast I stumbled. We stared at each other, both breathing too hard, his hair messed up from where my fingers had been tangled in it and my lipstick probably smeared to hell.

"Anella?" June called again.

"One second!" My voice came out strangled.

I shoved past Foxe, finger-combed my hair, and tried to fix my blouse where it had gotten twisted. In the small mirror on the wall, I looked exactly like someone who'd just been thoroughly kissed in an archive room.

Fantastic.

I yanked open the door.

June stood there with two coffees and a frown. "What's taking so long?"

"Just—explaining the filing system." I stepped out, smiled too brightly. "It's complicated."

June looked past me to where Foxe was leaning against the desk, looking infuriatingly composed except for the barely-visible color on his cheeks.

"Everything alright, Shield?"

"Perfect." Foxe's voice was smooth. "Your secretary's very thorough."

June's eyes narrowed slightly, but he handed me one of the coffees. "Meeting in ten. Don't be late."

"Yes sir."

He walked away, and I sagged against the doorframe.

That was too close. Way too close.

"Anella."

I turned. Foxe was watching me with an expression I couldn't read.

"This isn't over," he said quietly.

"Yes it is."

"No." He moved closer, and I held my ground even though every instinct screamed to run. "It's barely started."

"I'm not—we're not—"

"I know what you're doing." He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Playing along. Trying to get information. Using this—" he gestured between us, "—to get close to me."

My stomach dropped. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Yes you do." His smile was sad. Almost tender. "And the worst part? I don't even care."

Then he turned and walked out.

I stood there, hands shaking, trying to process what just happened.

He knows. He knows I was using him and he doesn't care.

My phone buzzed.

I pulled it out on autopilot.

Unknown Number: You left something in the archive.

My blood went cold.

I patted my pocket. My phone was there. My ID badge. My—

No.

The flash drive.

The flash drive with June's confidential presentation for tomorrow's board meeting. The one I'd been carrying in my blazer pocket all morning.

I checked. Double-checked.

Gone.

Another text came through.

Unknown Number: Room 4018. Grandeur Hotel. Tonight. 8 PM.

Unknown Number: Come alone, Anella.

Unknown Number: Or I'll make sure June knows exactly what his secretary's been up to.

Below the messages was a photo.

Of me.

In the archive room.

Kissing Foxe Shield.