The skin beneath my fingers felt hot to the touch. But to my mortification, the fact that Oliver had caught me—and that I might lose what little leeway I’d gained in unraveling my past—didn't seem nearly as monumental as what he had said a moment ago. That perfume makes me think of fucking you. I was twisted for focusing on that. Twisted and wrong for wanting more of him. I shifted, the hem of my knee-length gray bodycon dress riding up on my thighs. He rapped his knuckles on Margaret’s desk gently, and I jumped. "Okay," I whispered breathlessly. “I’ll come!” He released a ragged breath and then stated in a suggestively low voice, "Well, in that case, stay right where you are, beautiful. I'll come down there, too." I nearly bumped my head scrambling out, and I wasn't prepared for him to touch me, but his hands hooked under the tops of my arms. Dragging me to him, he pinned me against the side of the desk. "You're hiding under the desk in my mother’s office.” He stroked his thumb under my chin and tilted my face until his blue eyes penetrated mine.
