Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i am reading a book TXT) 📗

didn’t want to test your self-control. I just couldn’t resist doing this after what you said.”

“You know, I might have better willpower than I thought. Maybe we could give it a few more nudges.”

My phrase lures out that delicate pink hue I’ve come to worship on her skin. She giggles. “Why don’t we go back and have a dance instead?”

“So, you like dancing? But in my kitchen, you said you weren’t a dancer.”

“Well, I’m not, but I’m not wooden-legged either. I said what I did because I needed a reasonable excuse to explain why I preferred being a homebody to going out with Chelsea. Other than being a bookworm, I mean.”

A smile spreads on my face. “Very well, then. Let’s go dance. But on the way back, I’m keeping you close to me. I hated to watch how you struggled on the pebbles.”

Laia winks. “Deal. If I’m not mistaken, the band has just started playing a Solomon Burke. If we hurry, we might catch the end.”

We meander to the building hand in hand. I tease Laia about how, after all, I might turn out as an inspiration for her romance book.

As we chat and joke, and the warmth from Laia’s fingers seeps into my palm, I’m almost able to rid myself of the question of whether I’m what Laia really needs and whether I’ll be good enough for her.

Chapter 42

(Laia)

I switch off the light in my suite and snuggle into the luxurious silky bed sheets, while a sigh leaves my throat. My head is full of swirling thoughts about Devon, and my chest hums.

I suspected my feelings for him were more potent than a simple crush, but only now, in the quietude of my room, do I have the time to catch my breath (not only figuratively speaking) and recognize just how deep I’ve fallen.

There is no question. I’m in love with Devon.

Strangely, this devotion is more off-kilter than I could’ve imagined. Thanks to the countless romances I’ve read, I thought I’d know what it felt like to be in love. I expected a gushy feeling that would plaster a crazy, big smile on my lips. A kind of “cloud nine” sensation.

And while I’m definitely grinning in the darkness as I remember Devon’s kiss…kisses—yeah, definitely plural—there is so much more to my emotions than just euphoric giddiness.

When Devon held me in his arms on the dance floor, I felt whole.

As if a part of me I didn’t even know I was missing was hidden in his gaze. As if, with him in my life, I could build something I couldn’t have seen or known before.

I press a hand on my chest to keep my heart from jumping. But it’s a fruitless endeavor.

I inhale deeply and sit up. I’m too electrified to sleep. I turn the light back on and reach for the book on my nightstand. Perhaps reading a chapter from my motivational guide will help me settle down?

As if per serendipity, the book opens up on a page titled “Sharing and Showing Your Love.”

It’s the section dedicated to the various love languages. It argues that when we deliberately choose to disregard the style we’re most comfortable using because of another person, that’s a potential sign of true love.

Though I read this chapter some time ago, my breathing quickens when I scan the lines.

Devon is most at ease with showing his attraction physically. He’s even a true master of it, as I could attest to tonight.

I ignore the thrills the memory of Devon’s touch unleashes in me and focus on the detail of how he clearly decided to respect my boundaries even if it meant frustrating his own manly desires.

Could this be a sign that Devon feels as strongly about me as I do about him?

One of his phrases comes back to me.

Laia, you’re the woman I always desired. 

It sounded like an honest slip. Something he wasn’t ready to reveal to me yet, but did it anyway because he got caught up in the moment.

The possibility that the book is right, and thus Devon might love me, sends me on a dreamy mind trip. It involves lots of white fabric, my and his families and friends, and an enormous cake with chocolate frosting.

When I get to the point in my vision where Devon and I are about to exchange our vows, I shake my head.

I don’t need this fantasy. What I need is to reciprocate Devon’s considerate gesture in my own way.

I want to surprise him. Make him see I’m ready to step out of my comfort zone for him. I secretly hope it might prompt him to be more verbally forthcoming about his potential feelings for me.

I shut the book and drop it to the bed. I jump up, fish my slippers from beneath the bed, and put them on. I grab my room card and head straight to the door.

In less than a minute, I glide with a quiet rustling on the stairs.

I hope nobody will be sportive enough to use the staircase in the middle of the night when there’s a perfectly well-functioning elevator.

Though Devon and I were among the last to leave the gala, there could still be some guests looming about.

I’d like to meet as few people as possible in my striped pajama pants and T-shirt that reads, “I like to party, but by party I mean take naps,” which is courtesy of my all-so-funny brother.

I foretaste Devon’s bewilderment when he sees me at his door. I hope he’ll like the glimpse of my less timid, more flirtatious side and appreciate the special good night kiss I plan on giving him.

My wish is that it will keep him dreaming of me.

And me of him, of course, but that’s a given.

I push the glass door leading to his floor open, and it creaks despite my conscious effort to exercise as little pressure as possible. I scurry along the toffee-colored carpet of the corridor when, suddenly, I hear a chirring noise.

Chapter 43

(Devon)

I kick off my shoes