She rolled her eyes. “We’re not dying today. Nor are we flirting.”
“Oh, really?” I prodded. “Because I remember you mentioning something about me being hot and a beast in bed, not even an hour ago.”
Emma’s cheeks flushed an adorable crimson. “Shut the fuck up,” she hissed, her voice a sweet blend of embarrassment and irritation.
I grinned. This was going to be fun.
Emma opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, then seemed to reconsider.
I nudged her gently. “What is it?”
She shook her head, but I wasn’t letting it go. “Come on, spill it, Thompson.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she finally spoke, her voice softer. “I’m just relieved. When you left my room tonight, I thought I ruined something between us, but…” She trailed off, leaving an unspoken question hanging in the air.
I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips. “You think a hot chick getting drunk and coming on to me would scare me away forever? What kind of man do you think I am?”
“I wasn’t coming on to you,” she hissed.
I grinned. “No? Then what would you call it?”
She crossed her arms, all defensive. “Temporary insanity.”
I barked out a laugh. “Fine, Counselor. But even temporarily insane, you were still coming on to me.”
She uncrossed her arms, and then shrugged, casually. “Which you couldn’t handle, by the way.”
I stilled, all humor instantly gone, then straightened my spine. “You think I couldn’t handle it?”
She squinted, mouth curling into a challenge. “No, I think I called you hot and all the blood rushed to your dick. Your brain short-circuited.”
I caught her gaze, then slowly stepped toward her. Her breathing hitched as I forced her to retreat against the wall.
With a low growl, I murmured in her ear, “If you think calling me hot is something I can’t handle, what exactly do you hope will happen when you talk about my dick?”
I felt her swallow—hard.
She was affected by me. I could see it, sense it…fuck, the heat rolling off her made me turn almost feral. I had to remind myself now was neither the time nor place and keep my dick on a leash.
“Careful, little nightcrawler,” I purred, my tone darker now. “You keep poking the beast, and I might just show you exactly how well I can handle you.”
I leaned in, let my breath brush her ear. “And trust me—you’d love every fucking second of it.”
Then I stepped back. Let her go.
Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes so dark with hunger it almost made me lose control all over again.
She blinked a few times, shoved me lightly in the chest, and muttered, “Fucking player.”
I winked. “Said with such conviction. Almost like you mean it.”
A slow smile curved at her mouth, and my focus locked there—sharp, hungry. Fuck, I wanted to shove her against the wall and kiss that smile off her face—taste it, ruin it, feel it give beneath mine.
“I still think you’re the dark prince of charm and deception,” she said, a note of relief in her voice, “but I’m glad you didn’t write me off just yet.”
“You need to have more faith in people, Thompson,” I teased, tone light but pointed. “Don’t worry—nothing you say or do is ever going to scare me off.”
She cleared her throat, a pink flush rising up her neck and blooming across her cheeks. “Not even if I admitted I got drunk on your 74-year-old Macallan?”
