Making me burn

Lilly. 

     

“Walker, right?” he asked again.

I swallowed hard, that voice sent shivers down my spine. The kind that I had never felt with any other man.

“Yes.” I answered in a raspy tone, feeling dazed. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

He extended his hand, and for a moment, I debated whether it was smart to take it. Though I wanted to. God, his hand was attractive too. Strong, veiny, his skin tone slightly darker. I bet he knew how to use those hands on a woman’s body.

I shook my head. I couldn’t let my thoughts wander down that path.

Tentatively, I raised my hand and accepted his handshake. Warm. Strong. My pulse quickened at his touch, the heat from his closeness surging off of him and melting my core. Something inside of me shuddered with delight.

He let go of my hand, and I caught myself leaning towards him. Like a moth towards a flame. Lowering my hand to my side, I pressed my palm against my thigh and rubbed it. Something about his touch unnerved me.

His gaze followed the move and he raised an eyebrow as if he was intrigued.

“Please take a seat,” he offered, motioning me forward. I couldn’t keep my eyes from flickering to his strong hands again, wondering how good they’d feel on my skin.

We took several steps, his body too close to mine, the hint of his citrusy cologne entering my lungs. Suddenly, it felt like my legs were going to fail me before I managed to sit down. Butterflies twirled in the pit of my stomach.

“T-Thank you,” I stammered out, staring into those sexy eyes again. I sounded idiotic, like a damn virgin. Though this electric shock he ignited with his presence wasn’t virginal.

Get your shit together, Lilly! I had to stop gawking at him; otherwise, he’d start to think I was mental. There had to be one thing that was unattractive on this man… just one… because I might start drooling.

“Did you bring your resume?” Mr. Macklemore asked.

“Yes,” I breathed out. My hands fidgeted, trembling with anxiousness. Pulling it out of my folder, I handed it to him quickly to hide my shaking fingers. It would be beyond embarrassing if I dropped it.

My mouth suddenly felt as dry as a desert. My tongue swept across my bottom lip as I clutched my hands tightly in my lap. Mr. Macklemore traced the movement, something dangerously hot flashing in his eyes.

I gulped, every fiber of me on hyperalert. I forced a polite smile to hide how much he impressed me. He seemed mesmerized by me, and I wasn’t sure if it was in a good way.

His eyes never once wavered from mine, and I wished he’d just look at my damn resume so I could take a deep breath. Under those striking darkened greens, I felt like I stood in the middle of an inferno unable to move, letting it consume me.

A single heartbeat passed. It felt like a lifetime. He turned his attention to my resume and I missed his gaze. Jesus. First, I didn’t want his eyes on me and now I wanted them. It’s like he had taken away all the heat.

Pull yourself together! I scolded myself while my cheeks flushed crimson, imagining how those eyes would darken as he thrust inside me making me burn with something I had never experienced before.

“So tell me,” he drawled, his voice vibrating through me, a distinct ache between my legs. I wanted to jump his bones. What? No, no, no. I don’t want to jump his bones! This man unnerved me, rattled me in a bad way. “Why would someone with your extensive experience in finance, and with an MBA from Harvard, show up in my office applying for an admin position?”

Oh, here we go, I thought wryly.

I cleared my voice. “The economy sucks right now,” I explained in a firm voice. At least I hoped it was. “I worked for a small marketing company. They were hit by the downturn. Unfortunately, it’s not the best time to be looking for a job. But here I am.”

I went to Harvard and here I shook like a leaf in front of this man. Goddamn his penetrating gaze and his savagely gorgeous body.

I couldn’t even talk clearly, let alone form a smart, coherent thought. I was turned on beyond belief. And I suspected the latter was making me sound like an idiot.

For Pete’s sake, I birthed three children, I reprimanded myself. I'm an accomplished mature woman. Okay, okay… I was an accomplished mature woman before this damn economy started working against me. Hmmm, maybe not mature all the time, but fuck it, I tried. But still. I wasn’t a fretting teenager nor a young virgin.

“Lilly?” His voice startled me.

I blinked. “Excuse me?” It would seem I missed part of his conversation, rambling silently to myself.

“I asked whether you are open to tasks outside of an administrative nature?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered, wondering what he had in mind. Unconventional.

Damn, why did that word linger in my mind?

Maybe he’d use some of my finance background. I went to put my hand on my inflamed cheek but caught myself midair and dropped my hand. Now would not be the right time to start fanning myself. I finally understood Noona’s reaction. When she spoke about him, ninety percent of it had to do with how smokin’ hot he was.

God, it was too damn hot in here. Another quarter in the jar, I added in my mind.

“Do you have limitations with working hours?” he rumbled his next question. His voice was doing something to me. Something deliciously wrong, which made my heart race with adrenaline.

Shit, I cursed silently. I might have a heart attack before this is over.

Ignoring my confusing reaction to this man, I thought about the schedule. Summer break was about to start, but my mother-in-law assured me her schedule was flexible and she’d watch them no matter how late I’d have to work.

“No limitations.” Unconventional, my mind screamed. I ignored it. “I would like to know if I have to work past eight at night, at least a few hours in advance,” I added, although I hated the idea of not having dinner with my girls. But beggars can’t be choosers, my father’s voice echoed in my brain.

My husky tone made it sound as if I worked on seducing him. I had lost control over my own body in just the short amount of time spent with him. Could you imagine working for him? His gaze went over my flushed face, lowering to my chest before returning to my eyes.

I’d burst into flames at any moment. I was sure of it. The heat from this man scorched all my reason and cool demeanor to hell.

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his desk. The move was casual but something about it reminded me of a trap. He’d get all casual, put me at ease only to get me to spill all my secrets.

“Do you have any hobbies?” The question was unexpected. “What do you usually do?”

I stared at him dumbfounded, completely unprepared to talk about something personal.

“Do you?” I blurted out. Ugh, my interview. Not his.

The corner of his lip tipped up.

“We can talk about me some other time.” I’d bet all my non-existent money that he never talked about himself. “I’d much rather hear about you.”

Heat crept up my neck and singed my cheeks.

“Hmmm… I don’t have much free time,” I answered in a reserved tone. After all, this was an interview, and not a date.

When he didn’t comment back, my nerves rattled. I really had to impress him to get this job. It seemed I was the victim of my nervous jitters because I couldn’t believe the next words that came out of my mouth.

“Ugh… so I hate cooking,” I blurted out. Mental facepalm! So much for impressing him. The weirdest things came to my mind sometimes.

After a stretch of silence, I continued. “But then that wouldn't be a hobby, huh?”

Suddenly all the clumsiness of the teenage years that I missed came back tenfold.

The. Worst. Timing. Ever.

“No, it wouldn’t classify as a hobby,” he drawled nonchalantly. I tended to be good at reading vibes from people. Usually. But with Chance Macklemore, I had no idea where I stood.

“I love to hike,” I remarked with a tight smile. “We try to go at least once a month,” I added. “My kids and I.”

He remained silent. His eyes focused on me, observing me, and I had no doubt he noticed every single thing. Every movement. Every breath. Each fidget.

I cursed in my head for such a stupid question. It was a job interview, not a matchmaking interview. Hence, the question should be about the job skills, not damn hobbies.

“I mess around in my garden in the spring and summer,” I continued, making an idiot out of myself.

“Interesting,” he responded, and I could have sworn I detected humor in his voice. “Do you mess around in your garden alone?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say I wouldn’t mind him messing around in my garden. Inwardly, I groaned at my stupid reaction to this man. It had to be my desperation causing all these weird thoughts. Yes, desperation was to blame.

“Yes, mostly alone,” I replied bravely. Even managed a smile. This was what my Harvard education paid for. Such a good investment, I scoffed in my head.

“So you are a loner?” His voice was nonchalant, even his posture was relaxed, but there was tension streaming off of him. The problem was that I was unsure which side of him to trust - the tense one that vibrated under all that hotness or the seemingly relaxed one. This man was difficult to read.

“I’m not sure if I’d call myself a loner. I love to read.” I mentally sighed after the words left my mouth, realizing that I’d yet again given an example of something I do alone. “But I’m excellent at writing book summarizations.” We stared at each other in thick silence and I could almost hear the thundering of my own heart.

On a happy note, I was no longer perspiring. I just wished he’d ask me something about my skills already. I mean, he should care whether I could type, use Excel or Word. Anything but this. My hobbies would never have anything to do with him. And technically, the only thing I would read when working for him would be his emails.

This was pure torture. When he showed no inclination to ease my suffering, I continued with my rambling.

I tried to recover by adding, “And I do yoga on a regular basis.” At least that was a group activity. Right?

I should get the focus away from me. A filthy thought snuck into my mind, imagining sex as a hobby. Because I could totally enjoy that kind of hobby with this man. And that’s definitely not an individual hobby, I snickered in my mind.

A throbbing ache pulsed between my legs, and my breathing slightly hitched imagining myself tumbling between the sheets with him.

Stop, I scolded myself. Not good timing.

I shifted uncomfortably, squeezing my thighs together. I was turned on like never before. This had to be happening because of my long-term abstinence rule. After all, how many times did Noona warn me abstinence would backfire?

“Anything else?” he asked.

Jesus, how many things were there? I had kids; I barely had time for hobbies.

“I’m part of a smut book club,” I admitted. I’d die of embarrassment later. “I have a monthly happy-hour with the ladies. And sailing, though, I’m waiting for the little ones to get older before I get back to it.”

I cleared my throat, already regretting my last admission. “Umm, about this job-” I started, hoping we could shift back to the real interview.

“Yes?”

Either this man was horrible at interviews or there was something big I was missing here.

I swallowed. “Is there a transition time with the last secretary?”

“No.” I blinked, confused at his clipped answer. He must have read my confusion because he continued, “Kimberly has been with me for a long time. I need someone who can help her with certain duties and carry certain responsibilities directly for me. Booking, planning, and attending business travel and events, to name a few.”

“I see.” Truthfully, I really didn’t see. What was the point of having two secretaries?

“You’re good at Excel, I imagine.” I nodded. “How are your Word and PowerPoint skills?”

“I’m better at Excel and Word than PowerPoint, but I can manage it.”

“Excellent.”

I sighed. This interview wasn’t going excellent, not by any means. The worst part, I didn’t know how to fix it. It wasn’t as if I could tell him I’ve done plenty of business travel and events booking or planning of business events.

“Why did you stay at your last company for so long?” The question surprised me, though it wasn’t a hard answer.

“The owners were good to me and I loved working for them,” I told him, meeting his gaze. “There was no reason to leave. I enjoyed my job and the people there.”

“Was there anything you didn’t like at the company?” he asked curiously.

I tilted my head pensively. “Truthfully, I only remember the good things. I’m sure there were things that maybe annoyed me. But they weren’t big enough for me to ever consider leaving. My father used to tell me the grass isn't always greener on the other side. I tend to think he was right.”

“Smart man.”

My lips curved up, as they always did when I thought about my parents. “The smartest.”

Mr. Macklemore Walker from his chair and came around the desk. God, his body was truly a work of art. I could stare and admire it, even attempt to paint it and trust me, my artistic skills were non-existent.

Maybe I could feel his body and pretend I was sculpting, I mused to myself. Yep, my mind surpassed the gutter. It was basking in a pleasure realm.

“That would be all,” he concluded in his deep voice. “I think I’ve taken enough of your time.”

“Oh.” Well, that was abrupt. “Thank you,” I added, unsure what else to say.

The reasonable, put together Lilly Walker was forever gone and rattled under this man’s gaze. Butterflies in my stomach fluttered on adrenaline just as my heart raced with it too.

Taking a step to the right, my legs gave out. Apparently, my muscles decided to fall asleep. I would have fallen straight onto my face, but his hand shot out and gripped my elbow, pulling me back up into a standing position. I had no idea how he managed to move so fast or so gracefully, but he steadied me.

For a fraction of a second, I froze, my eyes locked on where his hand held me up. His warm, firm touch seared through my skin. And his cologne this close up smelled even better. It made me want to lean into him and inhale his scent deep into my lungs.

Gosh, he smells so good. All man.

My heartbeat pushed into a disturbing overdrive while I pondered why I had never felt anything like this before.

“You okay?” His firm voice penetrated my brain, and I willed my breaths to come out steady.

I met that piercing gaze and realized my hands were pressed against his hard chest. I was tempted to run my hands up and down to feel those muscles flexing under my palms. Even with him clothed, I bet it would feel nice. Really nice. A fleeting gaze made me realize my hands were clutching at the expensive material, and I quickly let go, causing myself to lose my balance again. Luckily for me, this man was less klutzy than I was today. His grip tightened, steadying me again.

“Yes… yes… yes, just fine.” Oh my God, how many times do I have to say yes. “I’m so sorry,” I apologized in a breathy voice, removing my hands from his body.

Taking a step back to gain space, I made sure not to trip or fall. This man was just too much. And I was behaving like some damn virgin. Or completely wanton! It was switching up on me from second to second.

“That will be all for today,” he added calmly. While I was flustered and tripped over my own feet, he was completely unaffected. “Check in with my assistant outside, and you will hear from my office either way.”

I nodded and turned around, hurrying for the door like the devil was at my heels. I had to get myself back to a normal state, and around him, it was impossible. Closing the door to his office, and this man, I exhaled the breath I wasn’t aware of holding.

I’d just made a complete fool out of myself. This was hands down the worst interview I ever had. I wasn’t even sure we made it to the interview part. Inhaling deeply, I pushed my hand through my hair, making it an even bigger mess. I was certain I had committed this bad habit multiple times while I was interviewing. It was my form of fidgeting, though I hadn’t experienced it recently in my adult life.

I walked over to the secretary’s desk and checked in.

“You alright?” Worry lingered in her voice and her eyes. I wasn’t sure why, but somehow it hit me in the chest. The look reminded me of my parents.

“Ah, yes,” I uttered, my voice still a bit breathless. “Not the greatest interview.”

The old lady grinned. “I’m sure it was better than you think,” she comforted.

Handing me a piece of paper, she then added, “This is a newsletter about our company. Just in case you want to read up and get an idea of what we are about. Either way, we’ll be in touch.”