Playing Dirty

Twenty Six

One week later, Sam was in the middle of doing the downward dog on a yoga mat in her office on a balmy Sunday morning, soothing music streaming from her laptop, the entire floor deserted when a familiar deep voice broke her blessed solitude.

“What are you doing?”

Sam lost her balance. With a shriek, a graceful pose ended with her in a heap on the floor, the blow to her chin mercifully muted by the thick rug.

A pair of black Doc Martens entered her line of vision. “Shit! Are you okay?”

Spitting a clump of hair out of her mouth, she glared at the shoes, eyes roaming upward to the face of the man crouching beside her, wearing a concerned expression.

“What did it look like I was doing?” she snapped, massaging her throbbing chin. Her lower lip stung and there was a metallic taste on her tongue. Bringing fingers to her lip, she touched the sore spot and winced, fingers coming away bloodstained.

Great. Another thing to add to an already crappy morning.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding,” Ryan reached to touch her lips, but she shied away, brushing his hands off.

“I’m fine.” she scrambled to her feet, ignoring the hand he held out and instead, busied herself straightening her workout clothes. “It’s just a small cut. What are you doing here anyway? I didn’t think anyone came to the office on Sundays.”

He rose to his full height, still watching her carefully. Her gaze flickered over him, mouth running dry at the picture he presented in tight black Linkin Park t-shirt that lovingly displayed tempting biceps and black jeans, windswept hair, with a pair of dark shades perched on the fair locks. A faint scent that reminded Sam of freshly baked muffins clung to him.

Goodness!

A delicious flare of heat crept between her thighs, and she felt her pulse, which was already going pretty fast, practically break into a sprint as every nerve ending throbbed with the instinct to simply launch herself at him and indulge in forbidden, but oh so satisfying sex right there in her office.

“Sam?” His puzzled tone snapped her out of the sexual fantasy and a fiery blush crept up her cheeks at the realization she’d spaced out and had completely missed whatever explanation he’d given for being here, ducking down to roll up the yoga mat in a bid to avoid looking him in the eye.

This was really getting absurd. Sam had always prided herself on being in full control of her emotions and impulses, yet in the space of a week, she’d managed to make a fool of herself by drooling over this man and losing track of the present. The last time had been during the lunch meeting with James and now this.

To cover up her gaffe, she merely nodded as though she understood, suddenly hit by a wave of self-consciousness at her shoddy appearance. Then promptly scolded herself for caring one way or the other what Ryan Silverton thought about the fact she was wearing yoga pants and a crop top to the office, or that sixty percent of her hair had escaped the ponytail and was currently plastered over sweat dampened face and neck.

Nope. She didn’t give two hoots about that. It was the labor day weekend, a public holiday that stretched till Tuesday and the entire Silvercorp building was deserted, save for a few workaholics in other departments and security. The assurance of solitude was what had brought her here in the first place, since the apartment had gotten a little too uncomfortable, what with Yash and Dee going at it like rabbits since Friday night and she forced to lie awake listening to the moaning and sounds of sex filtering through the walls.