Page 164

“I saw the way you looked at me tonight.”

“I’m surprised you could see at all by the time I got there.”

“Don’t deflect.”

“Laney.” I grip the wheel to keep myself from reaching for her.

“There.” She points at me. “That.”

“What?”

“That tone.”

I lean my head back against the seat.

“What tone?”

“The one you use when you’re frustrated and trying really hard not to say something.”

Fuck me.

I’m way past frustrated. When I walked in tonight and laid eyes on her in that sexy little costume I just about lost it. Little Miss Literature is lucky that no one had their hands on her or I’d be spending the night somewhere a hell of a lot worse than a penalty box.

“What aren’t you saying?” She keeps on.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Her seat belt clicks as she undoes it.

I turn my head. “What are you doing?”

She shifts toward the center console.

“Laney.” My knuckles go white.

“What?” She looks up at me with fuck me eyes and bats her lashes.

For being as innocent as I’m pretty sure she is, Delaney Beckett is damn good at this.

“Stay on your side of the car.” I warn her. And myself.

“Why?”

Because I’ve spent the last hour trying not to picture ripping that fucking corset off her. Because I know what’s underneath her clothes now. Because she’s been living in my apartment for a month. And somehow every day makes this worse instead of better.

“Because you’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” She puts one knee on the seat.

“Delaney.”

Then she’s climbing over the console.

“Jesus—” I catch her as she falls across my lap, one hand at her waist, the other lower on her hip. The fucking lace from her sexy little dress scratching my skin in the best and worst way.

Every thought in my head disappears except her.