"Anyone could see."
"They could." His thumb strokes once against my hip, and I nearly whimper. "Should I let go?"
No. God, no. "Probably."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't have one."
Something in his expression shifts. Heat building, control slipping. "Bea. I need you to be very clear right now. Because if you don't step back in the next five seconds, I'm going to kiss you."
My breath hitches. "That's?—"
"Fair warning." His voice drops to gravel. "I've been thinking about you since that not-a-date. And you're pressed against me in this alley looking at me like you want me to forget every good intention I had."
"I didn't?—"
"You did." His hands flex on my hips. "So. Five seconds. Step back if you don't want this."
Five.
My heart's pounding.
Four.
His scent is everywhere.
Three.
I should step back. This is insane.
Two.
I don't move.
One.
"Fuck it."
He doesn't kiss me.
Instead, he drops his forehead to mine, breathing hard. Fighting for control in a way that makes every nerve ending light up.
"You're killing me," he mutters.
"Sorry?" It comes out breathless. Definitely not sorry.
"Don't apologize." His thumb strokes once against my hip—unconscious movement, like he can't help it. "Just—fuck. Just give me a second."
He's fighting for control. I can see it in every line of his body. The tension in his shoulders. The white-knuckle grip on my hip. The way he won't look at me because if he does, something's going to break.
"Grayson—"
"Don't." The word's sharp. Almost desperate. "Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want me to lose control."
