Clare Connelly - Burn Me Once / Boardroom Sins

I deliberately don’t give him my name. Names are where the problems start.

I’m over Jeremy. I am.

If I ever see him again I think I could seriously find myself in a federal prison for life.

But the ghost of what we were...what he turned me into...is thick inside me. Always. I don’t remember the last time I looked in the mirror and didn’t see her . That woman. The woman he made me. The woman I came to loathe.

I fight the shudder. I’m not her any more. But it’s taken eight long months to claw my way back, and names are the beginning of forgetting that.

No names.

I lift the three drinks easily between my hands and give him one last smile without meeting his eyes before making my way back to the table.

Eliza and Cassie are staring at me, the former with a knowing smile and the latter with a dropped jaw.

‘You talked to him?’ Cassie squeaks in obvious disbelief.

‘He talked to me,’ I mumble, sliding their drinks across the table and looking guiltily towards the bar. He’s talking to someone else now. A guy. Is that who he came to meet? My heart drops. Does that mean he’ll be going soon?

‘He’s hot ,’ Eliza pronounces. ‘Why the hell are you still sitting with us ?’

I change the subject back to Cassie’s work situation, ignoring Eliza’s pointed stares and occasional jab beneath the table. But I drink quickly. Because I want to go back to the bar? Or because I need something to cool down my fevered blood?

Only it’s not working. My body is vibrating with a sensual need I haven’t felt in a long time. Heat is forming between my legs and I am so tempted to do something really stupid. Something I haven’t done in a long time.

Of their own accord, and definitely without my permission, my eyes shift towards him. He’s propped against the bar with glorious nonchalance, and he’s still chatting to the same guy, but his eyes are locked on me. He doesn’t try to hide it when I look up.

A thrill of something runs down my spine.

I’m so close to giving in to temptation, and that would be bad. Oh, it would be really good in some ways but...no. Bad. Definitely bad.

‘Okay, ladies,’ I murmur, pushing my almost finished drink aside and standing in one movement. ‘I’m going to head home.’

‘What?’ Eliza pulls a face. ‘Alone? Now? It’s so early!’

‘I know.’ I shrug. ‘But if I don’t go I think I’ll live to regret it.’

I wink at them, so that they can’t help but understand my meaning, and then blow each an air-kiss. There’s a slight tremble in my legs as I cut my way through the bar. Despite the fact we’re past the cut-off for free drinks it’s heaving busy now.

My body seems to be in silent rebellion of the decision I’ve made and is trying to make me change my mind. I don’t, though.

When I emerge from the bar’s air-conditioned comfort the night’s humidity crashes at me like a wave. But it’s nothing compared to the fever in my blood. I lift my hand, calling for a taxi, but it sails past.

‘Damn it.’

I begin to walk further down the sidewalk, my eyes scanning the street in both directions.

‘Hey.’

Though we’ve only spoken perhaps ten lines of dialogue to one another, his voice is imprinted in my mind. I recognise it instantly, even before I turn around.

‘Oh, hey.’ My heart is determinedly hammering against my chest.

‘You’re leaving already?’

When I frown my eyebrows draw together and I get a little line between them. I feel it form now.

‘Um... I’ve left, technically.’

‘Right. Where are you headed?’

‘Home,’ I say firmly, but my body rolls with the potential there. ‘Alone.’

It’s a defiant stop-sign and he laughs.

‘How about one last drink?’

One last drink. With Ethan all-your-dreams-come-true Ash. And then what? I’m already in serious danger of begging him to come home with me. And I suspect he would be incredible in bed. A good lover is one thing, but chemistry can’t be faked—and right now the chemistry bubbling between us is practically giving me an orgasm on the spot.

And don’t I want that?

Don’t I deserve that?

There’s been no one since Jeremy and I ache for what I think Ethan Ash could do to me. But then what? Am I really ready? How do you know when you are?

I shake my head slowly, not quite meeting his eyes. ‘I think that would be a bad idea.’ The words are thick, as though my mouth is coated in honey.

‘Go on. Live dangerously.’

His wink is the last word in delicious desire.

‘ Are you dangerous?’ I ask.

‘I think I could be around you.’

There are cars zipping past and people moving quickly around us, and yet it is just him and me, and the air around us seems to throb with awareness and the heaviness of need.

A shiver runs down my spine, but it’s not a shiver of darkness or danger so much as one of anticipation. Oh, God. I’m done for.

‘Isn’t that a good reason to stay away?’ I say. My brain makes a valiant last-ditch effort to keep my decision in place.

‘Depends.’

He moves infinitesimally closer and I breathe in deeply, tasting his masculine fragrance and letting it roll through my blood.

‘On what?’

And then he does it again. Just the lightest touch on the back of my hand, but for longer this time, so that I have time to register the contact and enjoy the sensation of desire that resonates through my body.

‘On whether you like to live dangerously.’

‘Not generally,’ I respond quickly, my lips flicking with a tight smile.

‘That surprises me.’

‘Why? You don’t know anything about me.’

He drops his hand away. The absence of touch leaves me feeling bereft.

‘Don’t I?’

‘How could you? We just met.’

‘Mmm...’

God, just that single throaty sound of acknowledgement sends a riot tumbling through my veins.

‘I know you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.’

I’ve heard that line before. Why do men feel the need to compliment hair? Mine is striking more than beautiful, but I’ve long ago given up feeling self-conscious about the thick rust-coloured mane that was the bane of my middle school existence, when my white skin, freckled nose and fire-engine-red hair led to almost daily teasing.

Yes, I’ve heard the line before, but it’s never made my stomach flip like this. I’ve never believed the line.

Thanks to the pioneering efforts of Christina Hendricks, right around the time I was hitting college, I made a kind of peace with my peaches and cream complexion, voluptuous figure and rusty hair, but I still never bought the pick-up lines. The guys who told me they loved my curves and dimples.

How easy it is to ignore flattery! But there’s something in his eyes, his face and his voice that renders me incapable of being dismissive now.

‘I know that your eyes show me everything you’re feeling and that your skin is like salt-water pearls.’

My laugh is a hoarse sound in the swirling atmosphere of need. ‘That’s all very cheesy.’

It’s not. It’s really not. Maybe it’s the fact he writes and sings some of the most famous love songs of all time, but he can totally pull this off. This guy, and this guy alone, can make those lines sound like they’re being spoken for the first time ever.

His laugh answers mine, and I’m smiling even as I want to acquiesce to his flirtation and do as he bids—live dangerously.

‘Even if it’s true?’

My breath catches in my throat and I look away—straight into the curious eyes of a woman a few feet away. She’s studying us and her cell phone is in her hand.