Page 45 of The Rebel

It was the suit—it had to be. The dark gray with the silver tie that made me want to ravish him.

Or maybe it was that a tiny bit of time had passed since we’d seen each other, and during that distance, I’d forgotten how incredibly sexy this man was.

Could I forget? Was that even possible?

Whatever the reason was, my body was losing its battle at staying calm and unbothered.

And even though we were no longer on the phone, I swore I could hear Sky singing,I told you you’d somehow run into him.

She was right.

Damn it.

And now, I had to make a decision, the seconds ticking away as he waited to hear what it was.

To buy myself a few more seconds, I took in what looked like days’ worth of scruff on his cheeks. I processed his dark-blue gaze as it pierced mine. A gaze that, without a doubt, was seeing beneath the clothes I had on. I inhaled his cologne, the sage and burnt orange blend, which wasn’t just filling my nose, but also wrapping around me and holding me.

What I wanted was clear.

But what I should want was something entirely different.

Because it shouldn’t be him.

Cooper Spade was off-limits.

Especially to me.

But why wasn’t my body following those rules? Why was the spot between my legs pulsing for him?

Why wasn’t I backing away a few inches and separating us? Why did I want to bring us even closer instead?

As I held his stare, I felt the weight of the decision I needed to make.

I prided myself in almost always doing the right thing. I was a rule follower. I would never hurt anyone intentionally.

This was completely out of character for me—and it had been since the beginning.

Yet here I was.

Again.

Doing more wrong.

Despite how upset my family would be if they knew I was with him.

Despite the fact that Cooper was looking at me as if I were just Rowan Someone and not Rowan Cole.

I filled my lungs with as much air as I could hold, the war of wrong versus right like bolts of electricity shocking every one of my muscles as I whispered, “I want you.”

He leaned down to the floor, where I heard the click of the glass, the two bottles free from his arm when he rose. Both of his hands went to my face, holding my cheeks. “What do you drive?”

What do I drive?

Why was I having such a hard time thinking?

Or connecting any dots that didn’t involve him?

“A Range Rover,” I finally replied.

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