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And damn if that doesn't make me feel positively powerful.

Maybe it's the way he's looking at me.

Maybe it's the fact that this impossibly controlled man has spent the entire night looking increasingly less controlled whenever I get too close.

Or maybe it's simply him.

Mitchell.

This brilliant, infuriating, arrogant man who makes me feel like the most desirable woman in every room we enter.

Whatever it is, I'm done overthinking it.

Maybe I am.

I slide my hands slowly up his chest, feeling solid muscle beneath my palms, until I can curl them around his shoulders.

His jaw tightens.

I smile.

“Prove it.”

Something dark and hungry flashes across his face.

Something that makes every ounce of that newfound bravado inside me collide with a fresh swarm of butterflies.

Oh.

Wow.

For one deliciously terrifying second, neither of us moves.

Then Mitchell's mouth curves into the kind of smile that makes me wonder if I've made a very, very dangerous mistake.

Except I don't want to take it back.

Not even a little.

Challenge apparently accepted.

Chapter 16

Mitchell

The fact that I have Layla Hawthorne nearly naked in my penthouse, backed against the wall with me hovering over her like some dark fucking dream, is probably the most erotic sight I've ever seen.

No.

Probably has no business in that sentence.

It is.

Nothing else comes close.

Emerald silk lies forgotten at our feet. Her hair is mussed from my hands, her lips swollen from my kisses, and those hazel eyes are locked on mine like she's still daring me.

Prove it.