“You don’t want me to,” I say.
Her eyes snap back to mine. I step in until our bodies are nearly touching, until the air between our mouths could vanish with a shift.
She doesn’t move. Neither do I.
I feel the tension roll off her skin, feel the way her jaw locks, the way her breath hitches and evens again. She’s angry. She’s aroused. She won’t admit either.
“You’re in too deep already,” I say as my lips curl.
She raises a brow at me, matching me stare for stare. “Am I?”
I shift my grip, not loosening it, just sliding slightly higher, just enough to make her feel it. Her free hand stays at her side. “I don’t trust you,” I say.
“You shouldn’t.”
“But I keep calling you in.”
“Then maybe that’s your problem.”
Her lower lip is fuller than the top. There’s a mark where her teeth pressed into it earlier. I picture her jaw in my hand and her mouth under mine. How would that smart mouth fare once I kiss her like she’s not here on business?
This could be a big mistake. But right now, all I want is to pin her to the wall and find out what else that mouth is good at.
5
SAOIRSE
His hand stays on my arm, and his thumb shifts once like he’s testing how much control he can take without asking. I don’t pull away or lean in, but I also refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing my breath change. I keep my eyes on his and let my face hold steady.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back up, and the look in it isn’t soft. It’s deliciously dark and it makes my heart skip a beat.
I’ve seen men decide plenty of things about me in my father’s rooms, and I’ve learned how to stand still through it, but this is different. This isn’t a man buying access, but he’s measuring risk and wanting it anyway. That makes it all the more dangerous considering why I’m here.
Father would be proud if I let him kiss me and used it as leverage later on. But I’m not ready for that yet. My hand slides to his wrist, and I press two fingers to the inside where his pulse hits. “Let go,” I say again, quiet and flat.
He steps closer, and the heat of his body pushes into my space, and the room shrinks down to his knuckles on my sleeve and the line of his mouth.
My mind throws up my father’s voice, my mother’s casket, the file on the table, the wordimmediate, the promise I made in my head at Riot Room. Then my body gives me something else, and it pisses me off.
His eyes narrow like he caught it. His hand slides higher, just a little. I shift my stance, and I angle my shoulder so my blazer seam doesn’t pull, and I keep my weight even on both feet.
He watches the adjustment like it’s an answer. “You’re in too deep already,” he says, his lips curling into a small smile that makes him look old and young all at the same time.
I lift my brow. “Am I?”
His mouth twitches, and his grip tightens for half a second, then steadies again. “I don’t trust you.”
To that, I give him a smile of my own. “You shouldn’t.”
Cillian nods. “But I keep calling you in.”
“Then maybe that’s your problem.”
His gaze drops again, and it lingers, and his hand doesn’t move away. He leans in.
I don’t back up. The distance between us turns thin, and I can feel the moment hovering, sharp and stupid and tempting.
Then a knock hits the door.
