Forbidden Desire

Chapter 4

Isabella

The walk worked well enough. Isabella snagged a sandwich before arriving back at her desk and descended into the bliss of problem hunting and solving. An hour and a half later, a gentle rap on the cube frame and the low murmur of her name startled Isabella away from the code she’d been fixing.

“Yeah?” She glanced over and her heart stopped.

Oliver stood there, balancing his open laptop in one hand and holding a Starbucks coffee in the other. He’d lost the suit jacket, but not the tie. “Is now a good time? Stephen said you were the procedure girl.”

Yes. No. Never would be the best time. God, why is he still so beautiful? Isabella cleared her throat. “Yeah. Pull up a chair.”

Oliver set down his coffee and laptop before dragging the guest chair over. Next thing she knew, Oliver was sitting there, close enough their shoulders nearly touched. Yes, he was real. The heat, the scent, and the sound of Oliver’s breathing all proved that. “What do you want to know?”

Oliver brushed the keys of his laptop with his fingers before answering in a voice that was too deep to be entirely professional. “Everything.”

God, those eyes. Dark and full of the emotions Isabella didn’t want to contemplate. You’re the one who left. “I’m not The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

Oliver’s smile was worse. Sharp and sweet, highlighted with a bit of a blush. Thankfully he looked away. “Well, how ’bout we start with the procedures you’ve written, then I’ll figure out what’s missing?”

“That I can do.” She brought up the procedure folder and walked Oliver through it all, from development to testing to bug fixes to releases. Everything she’d been able to collect and write down when she’d heard Jackson’s team had been hired. Didn’t matter if this was a mission to save them or sell them—something had to be done or they were all out of jobs.

The process of creating all the procedures had helped. They’d known how they did things was dysfunctional—the right hand never knew what the left was up to—but codifying what they did had pointed a spotlight on the deficits.

She hadn’t scraped the surface of what hse expected Oliver—and Sam Jackson—might want. Two jobs back, the company she’d worked for had undergone ISO certification. The amount of paperwork had been madness. She put all the files on a thumb drive and handed it to Oliver. “It’s all yours.”

Their fingers brushed and she nearly dropped the damn thing. A flash of heat and a cascade of memories. Those lips, those eyes, that skin.

Oliver’s breath caught. “Thanks.” He stuck the drive into his laptop. “Do you mind if I sit here while I look at these? In case I have any questions?”

Yeah, she did. There was that desire again, to grab that dark tie and either throttle or kiss Oliver. She couldn’t decide which one she wanted more. “Sure. My cube is your cube.” She opened the window she’d been working in before Oliver had arrived.

Surprisingly she slipped back into the groove. Oh, she knew Oliver was there less than an arm’s reach away, but rather than distracting, his presence soothed, like a cool breeze on a hot day. Just as it had so many years ago.

“Hey, Isabella?”

Like that, she snapped back into a world not made of Python syntax and statements. Oliver’s voice tickled through her limbs and down into her lower self. She glanced at the clock. At least forty-five minutes had passed in her trance. “Yeah?”

“Do you have any documentation on the open source code you guys have used?”

Her expression probably answered that question, since Oliver sighed and typed something on his laptop.

“It’s one of the things I’ve hounded people about, but…”

“Never enough time?”

His chuckle was ever so slightly bitter. “Been there, done that, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Oliver sipped his coffee, though it had to be cold by now. “Many times. But that was before Sam hired me.”

So many things Isabella didn’t know. Words slipped from her head, vanishing completely with the need to draw close to the man who had once been her best friend. She gripped the armrests of her chair. What happened, O?

Before the pause grew more awkward, Oliver set his coffee down. “Anyway, nice job with this. It’s all well-organized.” He gestured at the screen.

A barb lay in the little turn in Oliver’s voice. “You sound surprised.”

There was that lovely flush again, this time accompanied by a swallow that bobbed Oliver’s Adam’s apple. “I guess I am. I don’t remember you being… so neat about things.”

Isabella snorted. “The mechanic’s daughter thing made everyone think I was a slob. Greasy rag and all.” Her amusement fell into pain. “I thought you knew better, O.” Had Oliver changed that much?

Oliver’s blush deepened, and he looked at his hands. “I… You

Weren’t a slob. I didn’t mean that.”

She bit back the Then what the hell did you mean? Because the cube had ears. So many ears. “Do you remember my dad’s garage?”

Oliver got that faraway look. “Yeah.”

So did he. The sounds, the smell of oil, concrete, and grease. “You know the back wall, with all those bins?”

A nod.

“Every single one was organized alphabetically by make, model, and part type. Dad was so cool he was OCD before hipsters were.”

Oliver laughed but sobered quickly, his smile smoothing into seriousness. “Your book collection. I forgot.”

Organized by genre, author name, and publication year. “Yup. Didn’t fall too far from the tree in that respect.”

Oliver tapped his fingers lightly on the keys again. Touching, not typing. Nerves, probably. He’d never been able to sit still when anxious.

A sense of grim delight slithered up Isabella’s spine. She was making Oliver uncomfortable and she had to stop herself from pulling Oliver into a kiss.

Fifteen years ago, that was the usual outcome when Oliver had gotten that lost look after being beaten at his own game. One of them ended up on their knees. Or they both would, in an enjoyable contest to see who could make the other come first. Isabella shivered, the memory of Oliver’s tongue a little too close to the surface.

Oliver’s voice was soft. “I just wanted to tell you that this is really good work. There’s still a lot to be done, but this is far more than I expected Singularity to have.” He closed his laptop and stood.

Well, how about that. Given the not-so-subtle rumple in Oliver’s pants, someone else was remembering their past, too. “Thanks. I’ve heard good things about Sam Jackson.”

“All true.” He tossed the cup into the trash and headed for the hall. “See you tomorrow.”

Not so fast. “Oliver?”

He spun on his heel, eyebrows up.

“Lunch tomorrow?” The sooner they aired out the past, the better, because another afternoon like today would be hellish.

Oliver fidgeted in the hall and his shoulders dropped. “Yeah, tomorrow’s pretty flexible.”

Apprehension in that response. Isabella ignored the pain in her chest. “Good. Tomorrow it is.”

Oliver’s smile was genuine, if small. “See you later, Isabella.” Then he was gone.

Hearing her name spoken by that voice was like honey and lemon. So sweet, if you ignored the bitter sting.