Heat stirred low in her belly. She didn’t try to hide it.
“Patient?” she asked, brow lifting.
He traced her wrist, only a brush, but her breath caught anyway.
“Letting you take the wheel. Sitting through dinner. Watching you move in that brutally intoxicating outfit…” His hands slid to her waist, thumbs slipping just beneath the hem of her blouse.
“You’ve been testing me.”
She laughed quietly, but the sound dissolved as he leaned in, his mouth grazing just shy of her throat.
“You’re wrong, by the way,” he murmured.
She swallowed. “About what?”
“That the car is sexier.”
His hands moved lower, slow and certain, anchoring her. Then his mouth met hers. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger and something deeper.
Arden melted into him. Her fingers gripped in his shirt, dragging him closer until nothing remained between them but friction and fire.
His hands tightened on her hips, fitting her to him like he’d imagined it a hundred times.
He kissed her like she wasn’t just his to claim. But his tokeep.
When they parted, foreheads pressed, breath mingling, he brushed his thumb over her lower lip.
Reverent. Possessive. Like a vow written without words.
Her smile curved, slow and certain.“I might need more proof.”
His gaze sharpened—dark, intent, unraveling. “Come on,” he said, voice rasped and wrecked. “Let me prove it.”
He kissed her again, an invitation. A promise.
“I’ve got all night,” he said. “And I’m done holding back.”
Arden paused long enough for the weight of it to land. Then she met his eyes, sharp as ever, her voice steady as her pulse.
“You’re awfully confident for a man who might be losing.”
“Losing?” His smirk curled, molten and sure. “You’re still here.”
The truth in it struck deeper than she wanted to admit. Her fingers pressed her hand to his chest—firm, grounding.
Because she wasn’t unsure anymore. Not about him. Not about this.
“Lead the way, Blackwell,” she said.
And she let go.
The door clicked shutbehind them, sealing the room, and everything they would become.
He didn’t wait. He didn’t ask. He crossed the space like he’d already decided. His eyes weren’t teasing now. They were focused, hungry, intent. “This isn’t a game to me.”
“I know,” she said.
His hand came up slowly, open and unhurried. His fingers brushed the side of her neck, then followed the line of her collarbone, gliding down her arm. From there to her waist, where they lingered—mapping. Learning.
