“I want to kiss you,” he says, his voice a low whisper that makes my skin tingle, “but I can’t. You have to kiss me.”

  I stare down in a panic, worried he woke up, but his eyes are still firmly closed, his breathing too smooth and regular for him to be awake.

  I swallow. The thought of kissing Thomas has taken over my mind completely. Now that I know for sure that he wants to kiss me, all I have to do is to acknowledge that I want the same. That or pounce on him on the first occasion. But I have never in my life made the first move with anyone. I’m simply incapable. The idea terrifies me. It doesn’t matter that he just said he wants it as much as I do. I can’t just grab the back of his neck, pull him toward me, and kiss him.

  I’m scared. Scared of rejection, scared of judgment and criticism, and I’m more insecure than ever before.

  What if I’m not attractive enough? What if the way I kiss isn’t good enough and Thomas doesn’t like it? All the men I’ve had in my life either used me as their side piece, unbeknownst to me, or dropped me in the blink of an eye when I no longer fit into their pre-conceived ideas of me. Not to mention my father who never even bothered to meet me.

  What if Thomas is just chasing after a shiny new thing and once he gets it, he also tires of me? Then I’ll be stuck working for a man who rejected me, or I’ll have to find a new job. I don’t want a new job. I love the lab and the team I’ve built at Mercer Robotics.

  All these doubts rush through my mind. The fear of being inadequate makes me uncomfortable. In my job, I’m confident, capable, and competent. I know data, I can prove theories, and I can hold my own against anyone. But in my personal life, I’m just the opposite. Insecure, inexperienced, clumsy. Growing up with an absent father and a mother who always chose her men over me sure didn’t help in making me emotionally confident.

  But maybe for Thomas, I could overcome all those fears if what I was risking was only my heart. I did it before, and even if neither of my past relationships ended well, I survived. But having a relationship with Thomas, if that’s even what he wants, and this isn’t all just a game for him, would fire up so many complications. An eventual break-up would wreak havoc on the only aspect of my life where I’m in charge: my career.

  I can’t let it happen. I fear what may come out of crossing that line with him. And yet… here I am, happy to cuddle with Thomas in bed in the least professional of ways.

  I try to push the idea of kissing Thomas out of my head, but his proximity makes it impossible. The way his soft hair falls against my skin, the way his breath tickles my collarbone, the way his arms hold me close… it’s overwhelming. And nice. And cozy. And doesn’t feel wrong at all.

  It’s okay. I can let myself enjoy this little tidbit of closeness, I reason with myself. Just for a moment. Just for tonight. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

  I take a deep breath and hug Thomas tighter, snuggling closer still. His soft breaths grow deeper and slower, the sound like the tide of a gentle sea soothing me into sleep. I drift into nothingness, my thoughts still lingering on what would have happened if I’d been brave enough to make the first move.

  23

  THOMAS

  I wake up on a pillow of softness that smells like honey and wildflowers. The scent is so intoxicating that at first, I’m not sure if I’ve awoken to reality or a dream. But then the steady thud of Reese’s heartbeat reaches my ears, and it becomes clear this isn’t anything but real life. My eyes open to the still almost completely dark room; the alarm hasn’t sounded yet and the sun won’t come up for another few hours.

  Even in the semi-darkness, it doesn’t take long for me to catch up to the fact that I’m in bed with Reese. Even if I went to sleep above the covers, the bedsheets now provide but a flimsy barrier between us. My head is resting on her chest, her arms cradling me, my hand spread on her belly, and our legs intertwined like coiled ends of a rope, wound up so tightly we’ve become one.

  I want to stay like this forever, but I know it’s not possible. Not right. Reese is sleeping, hugging me was a reflex. I try to pull back, but as I make to move, she snuggles even closer to me, her soft breaths brushing against my neck. Even in her sleep, she’s so damn adorable.

  The questionability of staying put doesn’t stop me from admiring her, or from absorbing the warmth of her body against mine, or thinking how, right now, I need to figure out how to handle my feelings for her.

  I can’t force Reese to kiss me, even though every fiber of my being wants her to. But I also can’t keep pretending like nothing is happening between us. I mean, come on, we’re cuddling in bed! She’s hanging on to me like her life depends on it.

  But if I tell her how I feel, what if she puts up more walls? Or worse, what if she goes back to being uncomfortable around me and our working relationship becomes awkward? That’d be the last thing I’d wish to happen. I don’t want to pressure her into anything she’s not ready for. It’s clear she’s hesitant about exploring whatever this chemistry between us is, and I have to respect that.

  As much as it kills me to hold back my feelings for her, I know it’s what’s best for us right now. But that doesn’t mean I can’t show her in other ways how much I care. By being the best colleague. The best of friends. Show her I’m serious boyfriend material. That I’m patient, funny, kind, reliable, and genuine. Maybe then, when she’s ready, she’ll see me in a different light.

  The alarm on my phone goes off, and I reach with an arm over my nightstand to silence it. But it’s enough to wake Reese.

  I watch as she stirs, slowly coming to. She looks down at me with puffy eyes and a sleepy smile.

  “Good morning,” she whispers.

  “Morning,” I reply.

  We remain still for a few moments, just looking at each other and enjoying the silence. But then Reese’s alarm goes off, too. She blushes, probably realizing how inappropriate our position is, and sits up abruptly, shaking me off rather unceremoniously to silence the phone.

  “We need to get ready,” she says, all business now.

  I nod in agreement and we both start getting dressed. And I can tell we’re out of her comfort zone again. Reese is bucking around the room like a startled deer, giving me the side-eye as she awkwardly pulls her “Ben Solo deserved better” sweatshirt over her head and tries to smooth down her hair, which is now the cutest rumpled bird nest haloing her face.

  A thought strikes me. Was that sweatshirt a code answer to my question in the last secret note I sent her? She didn’t expect to see me yesterday on her trip, but was wearing the sweatshirt a way to feel closer to me as she departed?

  I’m itching to ask, but so far, the unspoken code about our secret notes has been to not speak about them, so I can’t mention them directly. But I can still flush her out.

  “Hey,” I say. “Nice sweatshirt. You a Reylo fan?”

  Reese stops fussing with her hair and looks at me with wide, Bambi eyes, blushing furiously.

  I wink at her.

  She swallows and blurts, “I have to brush my teeth.” Then she backtracks into the bathroom and shoves the door in my face.

  Definitely a Reylo fan.

  24

  REESE

  I shut myself into the tiny bathroom and lean my back against the wooden door. I need a cold shower. A bucket of ice thrown over my head.

  How am I going to survive three more nights on this trip?

  Hopefully by sleeping in my own room in my own bed—alone, no cuddling.

  The imprint of Thomas’s body is still searing a blistering path down my front. It’s like my skin is burning wherever we were touching and the adjoining areas are tingling with frustration. I really need that cold shower, but I need a change of clothes first.

  I put this sweatshirt on at random just trying to add separation layers to Thomas’s proximity. But today, we’ll be cabbing straight to the conference center from Fiumicino Airport, and I can’t very well show up in a Star Wars sweatshirt. I have to change into a suit.

  I dart back out of the bathroom to grab the one I packed and, of course, pick the exact moment Thomas is pulling his cotton-white T-shirt over his back.

  Transfixed, I stare as the muscles in his shoulders and lower back ripple under his skin.

  I gasp, and Thomas turns to me, showing off even more perfect muscles.

  I can’t stop myself, my eyes travel over his sculpted pecs, down to his perfect six-pack, and to the V of muscles disappearing under the band of his gym shorts, which are hanging obscenely low on his hips. I drink it all in until Thomas clears his throat.

  He’s caught me staring because I’m being that obvious. My eyes snap back to his, and his eyebrows raise in amusement. My mouth goes dry and I have to force myself to look away from his handsome face and perfect body before I start drooling like a fool.

  “Um, excuse me,” I stammer as I rush past him toward my suitcase. “I need to grab a change of clothes.”

  Thomas chuckles behind me, and heat rises to my face while my heart races. I dig through my suitcase, snatching up a blouse and a black pencil skirt, anything to distract me from the way Thomas’s upper body will be permanently imprinted in my memory—besides being already imprinted on my chest.

  This is getting ridiculous. I can’t keep lusting after him like this. It’s distracting and unprofessional.

  I grab the suit jacket last, trying to steady my breathing as I do so. When I turn back to face him, Thomas has already finished getting dressed and is sitting on the edge of his bed, putting on his shoes.

  I eye him, skeptically for once and not appreciatively. “Is that how you’re dressing for the conference?”

  He blinks at me. “Aren’t we stopping by the hotel in Rome before we go?”

  I shake my head. “No time. Suit up.”

  And with that, I lock myself in the bathroom again. I shower quickly, give my hair an approximate blow-dry, and change into my suit. In front of the mirror, I arrange my hair in a professional low chignon, hiding the pink tips. I put basic makeup on and nod at myself in the mirror. I look professional enough, now all I have to do is to act professional and I’ll be fine.

  When I exit the bathroom, Thomas is still in his sweatpants. “What are you doing?”

  Before answering, he takes me in. His eyes travel from my face down to my black skirt, lingering on my legs, but he doesn’t comment. “I’d like to freshen up before I change into a suit.”

  Oh, right, I’ve been hogging all the bathroom time. Despite it being my fault, I chide him. “Be quick, we only have fifteen minutes before the shuttle to the airport gets here.”

  Thomas grins at me and stands up from the bed, grabbing his toiletries and a garment bag before heading into the bathroom. “I’ll be quick, don’t worry.”

  His shoulder brushes with mine, and my empty stomach flip flops on itself. I watch him disappear behind the door, trying to squash the now familiar flutter in my stomach.

  Get a hold of yourself, I scold myself internally.

  This isn’t the time or the place to let my attraction to him get in the way.

  While I wait for Thomas to finish his shower, and to distract myself from the thought that he’s standing naked in the next room, I pack the last of my things and put on a pair of flats that I’ll swap for heels at the conference center. I wait, sitting on the bed, biting on a nail and fighting not to nip the edge off, all the while wishing I could see through walls.

  When Thomas finally emerges from the bathroom, I wish I’d let him keep his sweat-wear. Because the man standing in front of me now is like a walking, talking, breathing Armani ad come to life. His still-damp hair is swept back from his forehead, and his sharp jawline is neatly shaved. His crisp white dress shirt fits him like a glove, emphasizing the muscles in his chest. The dark-navy suit he’s wearing is tailored to fit him impeccably, while a classy light-blue tie hangs around his neck slightly askew—a minor detail that makes him real, human, flesh and bones, and frustrated dreams.

  A sudden urge to run my fingers through that neatly combed hair overpowers me. I want to tousle it while pulling him down to me by his tie to kiss him.

  I swallow hard as he smirks at me, noticing me staring.

  Thomas tilts his head. “Better?”

  I don’t know what possesses me, but I stand up and walk up to him to straighten his tie. As I stop a mere step away from him, the heat coming off his body hits me like a low drum in my belly, his spicy scent an attack on my senses. I try to ignore the way my heart is pounding in my chest as I adjust the knot of his tie, but it’s no use. My fingers shake with an unbidden desire.

  As I finish straightening his tie, I look up into his deep hazel eyes. The smirk is gone from his face. Thomas is looking down at me with an inscrutable expression. A lock of light-brown hair has escaped the comb-back and falls over his forehead, making him irresistible.

  I pat his chest and try to speak like a normal person, but my words come out in a coarse whisper. “You’re perfect now.”

  I take a step backward. He pushes the lock of hair back and turns away from me, going to zipper up the last of his stuff into his bag. Still giving me his shoulders, he says, “We should get going if we don’t want to miss the shuttle.”

  I nod, trying to compose myself, and shake off the urge to push him against the wall and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.

  We grab our suitcases and head out of the hotel room, walking side by side down the hallway. The tension between us tangible again.

  We stop in front of the elevator, and while we wait for it to arrive, I can’t bear to look at him.

  A few more stiflingly awkward seconds, and Thomas leans down to whisper in my ear, “Campbell?”

  My breath hitches in my throat. “Yes?”

  “How do Ewoks communicate over long distances?”

  The rigidity eases off my shoulders, and I look up at him, shaking my head, already smiling.

  “With Ewokie Talkies.” Thomas delivers the punchline, and we both chuckle.

  The elevator doors slide open and we step inside. Maybe the trip will be fine after all. We’ll be fine.

  25

  THOMAS

  The shuttle to the airport is waiting for us outside the hotel. We board it and settle in our seats in comfortable silence for once. Reese is staring out the window, but that doesn’t stop me from glancing over at her and noticing how beautiful she looks in her professional attire.

  Last time I saw her in a suit she was already halfway to taking it off. I chase the memories I shouldn’t have away and concentrate on the present.

  Her makeup is minimalistic yet stunning. Her hair is styled in a sleek chignon, the pink tips hidden, and I itch to pull out just a strand. To tell her she doesn’t have to change who she is just because we’re going to a conference. Not that I’m complaining about seeing her in a skirt. But I know these clothes are not her. That she’s just dressing for a part she thinks she has to play.

  Reese catches me staring in the bus window and smiles, making my heart skip a beat.

  I look away like an inexperienced teenager who can’t handle riding on the school bus next to his crush.

  Once we get to the airport, we’re too busy with traveling practicalities for me to dwell on my unrequited feelings—security checks, a quick breakfast in a boulangerie, and boarding the plane.

  The flight to Rome is so short we’ve barely reached cruise height when the plane starts descending again. The cab ride from Fiumicino to the conference center is a little bumpy but, uneven roads aside, it goes smoothly. At least until Reese grabs a pair of black pumps from her bag and swaps shoes. The gesture of her sliding on the heels is so darn sexy that I have to grab the car door armrest so tightly my knuckles go white.

  Seeing her in a tight skirt for the first time doesn’t help.

  Good thing we’ll be in a wide, public space soon and not alone, confined in the back of a cab, or in a tiny bed, or in an elevator car together. I could use the extra breathing room. My self-control is already hanging by a thread as is.

  Reese catches my intent gaze on her feet and blushes. I clear my throat and look away, trying to focus on the surroundings instead. Rome is breathtakingly beautiful with its narrow, winding streets and centuries-old buildings. It’s hard not to appreciate all the history surrounding us, but I still get distracted every other minute—the view inside the taxi is as stunning as the one outside.

  When we finally reach the conference center, the main hall is bustling with people coming from all over the world and speaking a multitude of languages. Reese and I check in at the registration desk. Our fingers brush as we reach for our badges at the same time, and it’s another electric jolt.

  I do my best to ignore it. “So, Campbell, where are we off to first?”

  “There’s a super cool presentation on immersive hand instructions in AR for asynchronous remote collaboration on spatio-temporal manual tasks that I don’t want to miss.”

  I chuckle and shake my head.

  “What?” she asks self-consciously.

  “That you can even remember that title amazes me. Sometimes I forget you’re a genius.”

  “I’m not a genius.” She waves me off and studies the conference center map to find the presentation room, beckoning me along. “This is my bread and butter. Will be yours, too, soon.”

  “Maybe.” I shove my hands in my pockets. Time to test the ground a little.

  Reese stops short. “What do you mean, maybe?”

  Okay, let’s show a few cards. “I have a lot of reasons to stay at Mercer Robotics, but… I may have an even better one to pick a different division to lead.”

  Her jaw drops. She takes a few seconds to realize that her mouth is dangling open and closes it.

  Then Reese swallows visibly, eyes wide and twinkling. A gentle flush creeps up her cheeks, and she lowers her gaze, shuffling her feet. “Do you think your father would let you switch?” She looks at me now. And my heart pumps in my chest because, oh, she’s interested. “He seems a man used to getting what he wants,” Reese continues. “And you’ve already been presented to the board.”