Page 81 of On The Edge

Now it’s time to go in for the kill.

“What was that?” I ask, feigning innocence.

He clears his throat. “I said I like this self-assured version of you, Maddix.”

“I do too.” I give a curt nod and stretch my arms over my head, drawing his eyes back to my body. Not that they strayed very far to begin with. “She’s kind of a badass.” I laugh and stroll past him and into the house.

“Are we done here?”

“You can follow me if you want. I need to go touch up my makeup for my evening.”

His footsteps follow me. “Where did you meet this new friend of yours?”

“In town. When I was shopping. The bikini was their idea.”

He grunts as I move to the fridge and pull out a bottle of sparkling water, making a big deal over trying to unscrew the top. “Let me,” he offers as I step toward him. So close I can see his pulse thundering in his jugular.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He hands it to me. “Where are you going to dinner?”

“On his yacht. You think this bikini is appropriate attire? I’ve never been on a yacht before.”

His jaw clenches and his eyebrows raise as he tries to keep his cool. “It’s not a good time of year to go on yachts,” he says.

I bite back my laugh as I turn and accidentally rub my breast against his arm. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I wipe imaginary lotion off his bicep. “I didn’t mean to get suntan oil on you.”

“It’s fine.” He jerks back a step like I’ve jolted him with electricity.

“I wasn’t aware there was a good or bad time to go on yachts. I mean, you’re making me think there might be jellyfish in the water while I was over here wondering how I’m going to keep this top on when I jump off the top deck and hit the water.”

“Maddix.” My name is a stern two syllables of frustration.

“Yeah?” I meet his eyes, the face of innocence. “Did I do something wrong, Cruz?”

The sexual tension is so damn thick you could cut it with a knife. But I stand there, eyes wide and lips lax, baiting him.

I was certain I would have chickened out by now. I’m the furthest thing from the seductive siren . . . and yet there is an empowerment in this. In owning my sexuality and using it blatantly and unapologetically to get a man’s attention. In using it to try and get what I want.

I’ve never been shy. But I’ve also never actively pursued a man. Maybe because I never found the right man to pursue.

I’m here for the next however long, and during that time, I can be whoever I want to be. Isn’t that the epiphany I came to this morning while staring at myself in the mirror after I had shaved and moisturized every damn inch of my body in preparation for this?

“No.” His hands clench. “Nothing wrong. Just trying to . . . it’s nothing.”

“Okay. You scared me for a second.” My smile is soft and then I startle just as I go to walk past him. “I need to get ready. I don’t want to be late. Thanks for—”

“Who’s your new friend? The one who helped you pick out your bikini and is having you on their yacht?”

“I think he’s a friend of yours actually. Said he knew you wouldn’t mind him stealing me away for the evening.”

“Name?” he demands as a smirk he can’t see plays on my lips.

“Rossi? Another driver. Or do I call you guys racers—”

But before I can even get the rest of my taunting comment out, Cruz has his hand on my bicep and yanks me solidly against his chest. His lips are on mine in a flash.

The kiss is a torrent of hunger. Of desire. Of fulfilling wants that have been building minute by minute, hour by hour, day by fucking day.