His voice was a little hoarse and strange. And from that voice, from the words she heard, something clenched inside Emily. Suddenly it felt so good that she wanted to cry.
"Were you stalking me?" she muttered, practically in a whisper.
Justin Evans, in principle, did not look like a maniac (although at the beginning of her acquaintance she sometimes had similar thoughts). Maniacs don't run magazines and publishing houses. Maniacs have more important things to do.
At that moment, Emily just wanted to hear about that girl at the window. Stupid, huh? But it's so nice.
"No, of course," the boss shook his head, "Please! I was not stalking!"
"And then what?"
"I was admiring," his hand moved from the steering wheel to the girl's neck, where the man neatly adjusted the raised corner of the collar of her blouse. "It's not forbidden, is it?"
Emily's heart pounded quickly, throbbing in her temples. A wave of heat went down her neck, where the boss's fingers accidentally touched her skin.
