She leans closer, her plush, glossy lips close to his ear. “Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p.’ “I wrote it to piss you off.”
His knuckles tighten on the wheel. “You’re a menace.”
Her smile is slow and dangerous. “Guess I’ll have to suffer the consequences.”
His pulse thuds hard in his throat. Christ. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted anyone this badly—with this much weight and heat and ache all tangled up in it. Not just lust. It’s her. Her voice, herbrain, her fire. She gets under his skin in ways he can’t explain and doesn’t want to fix.
When he pulls into the hotel lot, the warmth slips.
He shifts the truck into park and kills the engine.
This is it. This is where he walks her in, says good night, and watches her disappear through the sliding doors of the hotel lobby, back into the chaos of her life, her job, the million things he doesn’t belong to. He doesn’t know when he’ll see her again. Doesn’t know if he’ll get this again.
And the thought lodges in his chest like a blade.
He turns to her, ready to say something—anything—but she’s already popping her seatbelt, already reaching for the door.
Then she pauses.
Looks back at him with the same mischievous glint in her eyes that’s been haunting him since the second she walked into his life.
“You coming?”
The door clicks open. She slides out.
And Garrett’s blood roars.
CHAPTER 26
NAOMI
Naomi tries to remember how knees work as she jabs the elevator button. The space is too small, the man beside her is too hot, and she’s one terrible joke away from combusting. She was feeling brave in the truck with her cheeky comments and teasing arm grazes, but now that they’re here, she’s malfunctioning.
The doors slide closed, and her heart does an actual tap dance routine against her ribcage. Garrett stands beside her, all quiet bulk and unfair sexiness. He smells like cedar and fresh air, and she’s fairly certain she’ll never be normal again.
Naomi does what any normal woman would do in an emotionally charged, sexually tense scenario: she considers pulling the fire alarm just to escape.
“So,” she says brightly, “this is where you kill me, right?”
Garrett doesn’t even flinch. Just glances down at her with that maddeningly unreadable expression, all shadows and cheekbones.
She clears her throat. “Just asking. You’ve got the whole tall-dark-murdery vibe going, and I feel like I should let someone know before you cut me into little pieces in the hotel bathtub.”
His mouth twitches, the barest hint of amusement. “You think I’d wait this long?”
She shrugs, mouth dry. “I mean, if it’s a long con, I respect the commitment.”
Another pause.
She risks a glance up.
He’s still looking at her.
Not looking—watching.
Her palms are damp. Her legs? Questionable. Her brain? Offline.
God, she’s never been this twitchy. Not on dates, not in meetings, not even when she played the little orphan Annie in her middle school play.
