Free Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) by A. Rosa

calls."
    A date? Does he mean me? Why am I smiling?
    I climb all the way up his body, and my face inches closer to his. I ache to kiss him. It's a novel ache for me to have. My lips briefly touch his, and I pull away, not wanting to be a nuisance.
    "Thank you , Rebecca. E-mail me the details."
    He hangs up his phone, and an odd feeling sweeps over me.
    Who is Rebecca? My brain identifies the emotion as jealousy. I can't process the thought. I have no idea what to do with this emotion, just as I had no idea how to deal with embarrassment. Granted, I know I am doing this to myself, but still.
    His hands come to my face. "Alex, what's wrong?"
    Can I not hide a single damn emotion from this man?
    He presses his lips against mine as if he misses them, and I forget the previous spike of emotion.
    What a dangerous remedy to troubling thoughts.
    He pulls away, cuing me to answer.
    "I don't want to talk about it ," I quip.
    He rolls his eyes, and it annoys me.
    "You don't want to talk about it? Like the many other things you don't want to talk about?"
    I pout because he cuts to the chase, and I hate that he is right.
    "I will tell you everything once I get clearance, OK?" Did I just say that?
    "Clearance? What does any of that even mean?" He shakes his head as if to take back the question entirely and continues, "Actually, I don't care about all that stuff. I just want to know how you feel right now."
    I bite my lip, but manage a smile. He mirrors my look, and I swear my insides turn into goo.
    "Now, why are you smiling?" he asks.
    "Because of you."
    "Me?" He impishly points at himself.
    "You're kind of wonderful sometimes, you know that?"
    "Funny, I think that might be the nicest thing you've said to me since we met. Usually, I have to fight you." He raises a playful eyebrow.
    I laugh as I glance at his gorgeous features, realizing that I am in all sorts of trouble.
    "Tell me what was wrong two seconds ago." Ugh, does he let anything slide?
    "Now I don't want to tell you because it is silly."
    "If we are going to continue seeing each other , you can at least give me the benefit of the doubt, and be honest with me from this point on. Your past, you can leave at the door, but this is the present, c'mon."
    Did he say continue seeing each other?
    I know what I'm about to say is ridiculous, but I blurt it out anyway: "Who's Rebecca?"
    Jeremy responds with a belt of laughter, making me feel stupid.
    "Jealous much, Miss Turner? Who would have thought?" He tuts.
    "You want to make me feel worse th an I already do? If you must know, Mr. Hunt"—I enunciate the T sharply—"jealousy is not an emotion I have ever really experienced. My line of work doesn't really allow me many personal relationships."
    "Waiting tables?"
    The question flings me back to reality. "Yeah, waiting tables."
    I try to think of a way to get out of the lie, but being wonderful and all, he ignores the obvious hole in my statement.
    "Rebecca is my personal assistant." Hallelujah.
    I get bashful all of a sudden. Of course, he has a personal assistant. I wonder briefly if she is attractive. Jeremy seems like the type of person who would only hire attractive people.
    I toss the thought aside and kiss him. He is mine, at least for right now.
    He pulls away. "Hungry? It’s nearly noon." I sit up and nod. "I hope pizza sounds good. I already ordered us a pie, so it should be here any moment now."
    I grin, and he bestows his boyish smile upon me. "Oh, and do help yourself to my underwear. I think you look better in it than I ever will." He skims his fingers under the waistband of the boxer briefs I am wearing. The maneuver calls my whole body to attention.
    I lean in for a chaste kiss . "I beg to differ." I pull away to keep him wanting, but find it more difficult that I thought it would. I always want more.
    Jeremy does something I would have never expected. His hands come up to my stomach, and he runs his fingers down my abdomen. "How often do you go to the gym?" He sounds