CHAPTER 156

BRIAN POV

“This isn’t–” I begin, but she shakes her head.

      “You’re hard. I know you are.”

      My hand covers my crotch instinctively, knowing full well she’s right.

      “You need to sleep.”

      “Stay,” she says, and I have to close my eyes to block her out.

      “Moona, I can’t.” My voice is as firm as I can muster. I hear the hitch of my own breath as I fight for resolve.

      And she changes again. Just like that.

      She pulls up her cami and rearranges the covers on top of her. I’d believe I’d imagined the entire interaction if it wasn’t for the glint in her eyes.

      “A goodnight kiss, then.” She says, and my dick fucking aches with the strain. “Just a peck, to say thank you. For the soup. And the other stuff.”

      Just a peck. To say thank you. And then a sharp exit.

      I lower myself over her, my arms rigid to keep my distance. Her fingers are lightning-fast, slipping inside my jacket and up my chest before I even lower my face to hers, her pretty mouth perfectly angled to meet mine.

      It’s not a peck. Her fingers twist in my hair and hold me tight. Her lips press to mine and stay there, and so do I.

      I’m not a man who gives into desire.

 I’m not a weak man who can’t control his urges. But I’m not the man I recognise as Moona Avii sweeps her tongue across my mouth and begs for entry. I’m one heartbeat away from kissing her like I’ve never kissed anyone before in my life. 

I’m one breath away from tearing her grubby clothes from her and fucking her the way I’ve been dreaming of fucking her since the moment I first fucking met her.

 She arches her back as if she knows it. She moans against my mouth as though she knows I’m about to break.

      But I don’t.

 It takes every scrap of resolve to pull away. I take a breath as I gather myself, ignoring the throb of my cock and the heat I’m packing under my suit.

      “Goodnight, Moona,” I say.

      And this time I mean it.

•

•

•

I’m in the office early, attempting fruitlessly to bury myself in paperwork to numb the guilt I feel at wanting a girl less than half my age.

I know I can’t act on it. I know both my professionalism and my sense of moral judgement won’t go down without one hell of a fight, no matter what my dick has to say about it.

None of my colleagues have even arrived for the day when I receive the latest WTF message from Cain. I type out a response and delete it three times straight. 

What can I possibly say to him?

 Found Moona. She’s in your house with a bloody lip and a swollen ankle. Hope you don’t mind?

     

He’d be on a plane home before the morning was out.

 I send him a simple everything’s fine and curse myself for it. I’ve got less than a week to find Moona a more permanent place to stay, and I’m at a brick wall with all the agencies without her cooperation.

 Cain’s place is the only viable option for now, although the thought of Moona trampling muddy boots all over his living room carpet does little to ease my anxiety.

      It appears I’m switching one set of stresses for another. At least I know she’s safe for the time being.

      That will have to do for now.

      I sent her a text message at lunchtime telling her I’ll be back in the early evening, wondering how the hell things are going to be in the cold light of day after having given her the brush off last night. She’s volatile. Unpredictable.

      Intoxicatingly wild.

I’m seriously out of my depth here and I feel it right through me. I consider calling Nick and Amie and letting them know she’s been found safe, but I’m already well aware they are beyond caring about her current whereabouts. I could confess the sorry situation to my co-workers and hope they don’t judge me too harshly for going maverick on an epic scale, but I don’t.

I tell myself it’s for Moona’s sake, making sure she can find her feet before she’s shunted into a load of agency meetings, but I know it has just as much to do with my own inability to let go of this time with her as any of that.

   My gut is one big knot as I drive to Cain’s place straight after work. I plead for good fortune under my breath as I make my way to the front door, trying not to contemplate the carnage that might be waiting on the other side.

 Muddy boots could be the least of my problems. She could have taken it upon herself to redecorate his living room with ketchup for all I know. Nothing would surprise me, having seen her case notes.

      I breathe a sigh of relief as I find her in front of Cain’s huge TV. Her hair is shiny and full, cascading down over her shoulders to pool on the leather sofa. Her skin looks fresh and clear, her eyes bright as she watches some crappy reality TV show. Her knees are gathered to her chest, a collection of crockery discarded on the living room floor.

      “Hi,” I say, but she barely gives me a glance. “How was your day? How’s your ankle?”

      She shrugs then wiggles her foot. “Told you I’d live.”

      The coldness in her tone takes me aback. The memory of her lips pressed to mine feels alien and distant. This is another face of Moona Avii, one that should be familiar to me from weeks of grunts and silent treatment, but in my office it never felt personal. Not like it does now.

      I clear my throat. “Did you sleep well?”

      “The bed’s shit,” she says. “Too springy.”

      It is springy, she’s right.

      “What did you have for lunch?”

      She shoots me a glare that damns me for interrupting her TV show. 

“Sandwich. Soup. Bar of chocolate. Any other questions?”

      I take a breath. “Are you ready to talk about where you’ve been these past few days? Who did that to your lip?”

      She rolls her eyes. “No. I’m not ready to talk about where I’ve been these past few days. Who even cares?”

      “I do.”

      Her eyes are fierce. “How about you? Are you ready to talk about why you’re too much of a pussy to act on what you want?”

      “It’s not like that,” I begin, but she groans and turns the volume up. 

“Moona…”

      “It is like that!” she hisses.

      For all of my patience over the months and all the relief of having the girl back safe and sound, I feel the simmer of impatience under my cool. 

I don’t lose my temper with the people I work with. I subscribe to the philosophy that people are always doing the best they can with the resources they have available. That in Moona’s world right now she’s making choices based on choices she’s been making all her life up until this point. That she doesn’t mean what she says, it’s just that she doesn’t have a framework for more effective ways of social interaction.

      Even so, I want to give the bratty little cow a good slap for her rudeness.

      I take a breath to compose myself and she laughs at me.

      “Don’t like being called a pussy? Then don’t fucking act like one.”

      “This isn’t my office,” I tell her, and my voice doesn’t sound like mine.

      “No, it’s your posh friend’s place and you put me in here.”

      “Yes, I did. Because you needed somewhere to stay. You still do. Last night has nothing to do with anything. You needed help, I was there.”

      “There with a fucking hard on in your pants. Admit it, that’s why you came to rescue me, right? That’s why you even give a shit?”

      I can’t keep up with this. I stare in morbid fascination as Moona’s glare burns right through me. Angry with me for not fucking her? Angry for not breaking my principles? Angry that I want to?

      “This is impossible,” I say to her. 

“This conversation is impossible.”

She folds her arms. “You want me to leave?”

      “No,” I tell her. “I don’t want you to leave.”

      “Then let me watch my fucking TV show,” she says.