“It was good they had you then and now,” I say, without knowing the details.
“I’m glad I had them. So, yeah, I guess it’s in my nature to be unflappable, but also…” He purses his lips, his brow furrowing. He goes quiet as he turns down another road, a quiet one that winds past a small chicken farm, then a pasture with horses. We’re cruising past patches of land, hemmed in by white fences and wide-open skies before he finishes the thought: “I have to be.”
“To do your job?”
“Yes. But I have to be unflappable with you. I need to be professional with you, Ripley.” There’s no teasing in his tone this time.
He’s all business, almost like he’s issuing a directive. Drawing a line in the sand.
“Well, you’re good at it, Banks. I can’t get you to break,” I say, injecting a little levity into the conversation. “And trust me, I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” he says, then his jaw ticks. He rolls his lips together, and I swear there’s some battle going on in his head. Then, with his hands firmly gripping the wheel, he steals a glance my way. “But maybe you didn’t try the right thing to get me to break.”
“I didn’t?” I ask carefully, trying to figure out where he’s going.
He shakes his head. “Maybe if you did then I wouldn’t be so unflappable.”
Another stolen glance. This time with heat in his eyes. I’m not sure we’re talking about our game of chicken anymore.
Or maybe that’s all we’re talking about, so I push a little more. He’s the one who suggested I’m irresistible. He’s the one who said he remembers everything from that night we met. He’s the one, too, who said he’d be ready for my next dare.
I’m not even sure if I’m daring him. But I am sure I’m goading him as I say, “If you hadn’t run that night, there’s no way you’d be acting so professional now.”
“You think so?”
“I sure do.” It comes out flirty on purpose.
There’s a heated pause even as he drives. An electrical charge sparking between us. Then, a challenge of his own as he says, “Try me, sweetheart.”
My pulse speeds up. With excitement. With danger. “What do you mean?”
“This,” he bites out, brusquely. He pulls over to the side of the road, cuts the engine, and says, “You won.”
He curls a hand around my head and kisses the breath out of me.
21
SEEMED LIKE A BAD IDEA AT THE TIME
BANKS
There are bad ideas and then there are spectacularly bad ideas. This would be the latter—messing around with a client I promised to protect—and yet I can’t find it in me to stop.
Ripley tastes too good. Smells too intoxicating. Responds too temptingly. Her lips part the second I seal my mouth to hers. She invites my kiss, and I take everything she offers on the side of a quiet road in her pickup truck.
I travel my hand up the back of her neck, cataloging the way she trembles as I touch her. Her murmurs as my fingers glide into her hair. Her sighs as I hold her tight.
The kiss is a little frantic, a lot noisy. Or maybe that’s the rub of denim from my jeans against the old leather of the seats, or her thigh against the gearshift as she inches closer, or my arm knocking against the steering wheel as I reach for her.
But I’m not going to let something like limited space stop menow that I’ve given in. I kiss her harder, like that’ll cover up the annoyance of no fucking room. The only space I truly care about is the distance between us, and I’d like to turn that to nothing. Dipping her head back, I capture each plaintive moan of hers with another hungry kiss. She reaches for the collar of my polo, jerking me closer. I nip the corner of her mouth, then kiss her hard again.
Until my elbow scrapes the horn and it bleats. “Fuck,” I mutter, wrenching away.
I should stop. This is a sign. This truck is too small. It only has front seats and mine’s nearly all the way back. It’s late afternoon and the sun is still bright. There’s no privacy. But then my gaze lands on her bee-stung lips. Yeah, I’m not unflappable now whatsoever. “Guess you got me to break,” I mutter.
Her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to show how pleased that makes her. “Guess I did.”
I grab her jaw. Her breath hitches. I slide my thumb along her face. Ripley is such a conundrum. A tough-as-nails woman who seems to like being…taken. I glance around the cab, assessing the space quickly, making plans in a second. “Fuck it,” I say with a shrug. “Stay there. Don’t move.”
