He licks his lips a tiny bit, looking down at me, and I feel a rush of arousal I haven't felt in months. It's too much, having him spill so much of his heart, his hands touching me, and so help me, I just want him.
But I know I have to hear what he's saying. I blink, trying to re-focus on his words.
"Until you, I didn't know," he says. "I'll always regret what I said to you, what I did. I was reckless with the one thing that really mattered."
I stare at him, trying to make sense of the storm inside. "What else did you lie about?"
"Let's see." His eyes search my face. "I lied when I said I didn't think it was a good idea for us to keep on sleeping together. I lied when I said it was a mistake, that night when I made your mother disown you. I know I should feel sorry, but I fucking don't. I hope she never speaks to you again. It kills me that it'll hurt you, but I know she's bad for you." A ghost of a smile. "Even worse than me, if that's possible."
"You weren't bad for me," I sob, unable to hold it back anymore. "Somehow, I don't know how, you were exactly what I needed. When we were together, and I don't just mean fucking - I mean just together, as people, when you didn't feel the need to act like my boss…it always felt right."
"I know." He touches the side of my face, with tentative fingers. "I know. It scared the hell out of me."
"Why'd you quit?" I ask, finally.
"Because I don't want to be that person anymore." He says this with conviction, and something twists and bursts in my chest. "I don't know who I want to be, but Risinger Industries is in my past now. Of course it's still in my family, and I'm still disgustingly rich." He smiles a little. "But as much as I can, I'm trying to get away from it. I'm done being careless. I hate being reckless. Most of all, I hate that you'll always look at me and see someone who hurt you."
"Getting rid of the company doesn't change that," I murmur. I can't stand it anymore. I launch myself up on tip-toes, and I kiss him. The noise he makes is surprised, pleased, maybe a little confused, if a muffled sound can convey all of that. But there's nothing confused about the way he kisses me back.
Resting my head on his chest, I can hear his heart beating a million miles a second. When he starts to talk, I can feel his voice vibrating through his ribcage.
"When I met you, you know, I hadn't written anything in ten years. More. My dad hated it. He found all my journals and burned them, when I was twelve. I already had my future in front of me. He didn't want me wasting my time. And that desire I felt when I met you - beyond the obvious, that itch to pick up a pen and let a story flow out of me the way they always wanted to - it scared the hell out of me. It made me angry. It was my father's anger, I realize now. It was the fear of him, still haunting me.
"But I couldn't just ignore it. I meant every word I wrote in that email. You didn't look like the women I'm supposed to want, but you were desperately sexy, and I knew if I let myself, I'd ruin you. So I didn't.
"Instead, I wrote. I let everything out in stories, and not just the ones I published. There were some I didn't dare, because I knew you'd recognize yourself if you ever saw. Like that time the vent in the hallway wouldn't stop rattling and maintenance wouldn't come, and you climbed up on a stack of chairs with a butter-knife to fix it. I never met a woman like you - hell, I never met a person like you. The way you talked to me. Not caring if you hurt my feelings, not sparing a single thought for my ego. Before long, my only fantasy was you, taunting me, with that smile on your face, until I found a way to shut you up." He licks his lips again, quickly. "Sorry. Trying not to get carried away, but it's hard."
I let out a totally undignified sound, and maybe, maybe I get a little bit of snot on his shirt. He doesn't even flinch. It must be love.
"Yeah," I mutter. "I noticed."
There's a moment of silence, with nothing but heartbeats.
"I hated myself for firing you," he says. "I really thought it was the best thing. And I really was just going to give you the slip and walk away, but fuck, Meg…I couldn't help myself. I needed you, one last time. And then I did nothing but worry about you. I knew you'd never accept any help from me, so that was all I could do. As much as it killed me. But I knew, I knew you'd be fine. When Shelly told me you had a new job, I wasn't surprised." He sighs, looking down at me with such softness and concern that he'd be unrecognizable to anyone else in the office. But not me. I've seen it before, in flashes, and felt it in his touch. "I missed you so fucking much."
"It's been weird, hasn't it?" I laugh a little bit. "Five years, we talked to each other almost every day." My throat starts to close, and it's so hard to say the words - I can still taste the fear in the back of my throat. Thinking he'll turn and run away again. "I missed you too."
With a hand on either side of my face, he lifts it, meeting me halfway, but not kissing me again. Not yet. "Have your feelings for me changed? I mean, really changed, aside from all the shit you've got every right to hate me for?"
"No," I whisper.
"Good." His lips brush mine. "I want to talk to you, Meg. I want to talk more. I want to talk for hours, and explain everything, and apologize a thousand times. But first I want to make love to you. Not fuck, you understand. We've done plenty of that, and we'll do plenty more. I need it. You need it too." He kisses me, finally. It's long, and slow, and it leaves every inch of my body tingling. "Do you know how long I've wanted you?" he asks, his voice husky. "Every day of my life. Every time you wore one of those skirts with the slit up the side, I'd have to jerk off under my desk once or twice, just so I could concentrate. For years now, every time I come, I picture it painting your skin. I can't imagine ever wanting anyone else."
My whole body is throbbing. "I loved that," I confess. "When you marked me. I still think about it all the time, especially when I don't want to."
"Come home with me," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. "Before I have to fuck you right here and ruin my whole plan."
"Home?" I look up at him. "You mean, your home?"
He nods, smiling. "Yeah," he says. "My home. My bed. What else would that mean?"
"You asshole." I'm glaring, smiling, and crying all at once. I don't know what the hell's happening anymore. "You set me up for this. All that shit about how you don't let anyone in your bedroom. I bet that's not even true."