My whole body goes rigid, fighting a battle I fear I’m about to lose.
“Go inside,” I repeat, pleading with her to do as I ask.
But she doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The air between us is electric with all the things I want to do to her. All the ways I want to taste and touch and claim her.
When I’m not sure I can take another second of this tension, she finally turns toward the door, holding her keycard up to the lock. It beeps, and she steps inside.
But just before she closes the door, she glances back. Our eyes catch. Hold. And I see it.
The want.
The invitation.
The promise.
I want to accept. Want to push into her room and lose myself in her.
But I don’t, increasing the distance even more.
Our eyes remain locked on each other as she slowly closes the door, the sound seeming to echo in the hallway.
I let out a long breath and drag a hand through my hair. My legs feel like lead as I turn back toward the elevators.
This is for the best.
My life just got much more complicated than I anticipated. I don’t need to add yet another complication to the mix.
And Claire has complication written all over her.
But that doesn’t stop me from pausing in my tracks when I hear the soft click of a door opening again. It could be someone else. There are dozens of rooms on this floor.
I know it’s her door.
I feel it.
I feelher.
My pulse gradually kicking up, I turn around, the electricity in the air cracking like a damn live wire.
Claire stands just outside her room, her gaze trained on me like I’m the only thing she sees.
For what feels like an eternity, neither of us moves or speaks.
We just stare.
And watch.
And want.
Then something inside me snaps, and I mutter, “Screw it.”
My legs move before my brain’s had a chance to catch up, long, fast strides eating up the distance between us.
I cup her cheek with one hand, my other settling low on her waist as I back her into the room, the thud of the door slamming closed echoing behind me.
