“We shouldn’t,” he agreed.
His thumb stroked once along my cheekbone.
My breath hitched.
He leaned in again, softer this time, lips brushing mine in a slow, intoxicating tease, and pulled back before I could chase it.
“Carson,” I whispered, unsteadily. “Mortimer was much easier to handle.”
He smiled and stepped back only enough to give me space, not enough to break whatever had sparked between us.
Tomorrow’s trip suddenly felt ten times more complicated.
And ten times more impossible to resist.
Carson took another slow step back, giving me just enough room to breathe again. I gripped the edge of the desk behind me, willing my pulse to behave. It did not.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling in a low, controlled breath that absolutely did not help.
“Tomorrow,” he said, still catching his breath a little, “we need to be focused.”
“Right,” I managed. “Focused. Totally. I can focus.”
I absolutely could not.
His mouth curved into a knowing smile. “You sure?”
“No,” I said honestly.
That earned a soft laugh, and I pushed a stack of maps aside like they personally offended me. “We just have to get through the next few days without doing… that.”
“That,” he repeated, amused. “We’re not very good at avoidingthat.”
“You started it.”
“No,” he said, taking a step back toward me, eyes flicking to my lips, “you started it.”
Heat rushed through me. “Excuse me?”
“You kissed me first at the supper club,” he said quietly.
“That was an accident.”
He arched a brow. “Was it? The old I slipped on an ice patch routine, and oops, my lips landed on the new guide.”
“Yes,” I said, even though we both knew it was only half the truth. “Mostly. A little bit. Fine, maybe not entirely.”
“So not an accident,” he murmured, closing the distance again.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
My heartbeat stuttered.
He lifted his hand again, brushing his fingers lightly down my arm. “You keep saying we shouldn’t.”
“And we shouldn’t,” I whispered.
