Page 34 of He Falls First

“Elizabeth?”

Her eyes are wide as she clutches a file in her grasp. “Hendrix! You scared me half to death! What are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?” A laugh almost escapes me, absurdity outweighing anger. “I thought you were an intruder. Thought I was coming to your defense.”

“By sneaking up on me in your own office?” She lifts an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips despite the situation.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” I admit, running a hand through my messy sleep hair. “But why are you rummaging through my things in the dead of night?”

“Can’t a girl look for a stapler in peace?” Her retort is light, but her tapping foot gives away her nervous energy.

“Right, a stapler. At three in the morning.” I lean against the doorframe, not sure whether to laugh or lecture. “You’re as stealthy as an elephant in a china shop, you know that?”

“Guess I could use a few pointers from you.” Her chuckle diffuses the last of my adrenaline-fueled readiness to fight.

But the second I relax, it hits me—Elizabeth is hunched over my desk, not pilfering pens but poring over the LocalLink files. My chest tightens.

“What the hell were you doing with that?” The words snap from my lips before I can rein them in. I stalk over to the desk and watch her body go rigid with surprise—or guilt?

She turns, sheepishness on her face. “Hendrix—I…”

“These files are off-limits for a reason.” I cross my arms.

“I know, I just thought—”

“Oh, you thought?” I interrupt, struggling to keep my voice level. “You know what they say about assuming. Makes an ass out of you and me.”

“Mostly just me, right now,” she admits. Her body looks taut, like she’s bracing for a storm. That storm is me. “I- I was just curious. I wanted to understand more about what you’re working on. I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it, Liz.” My tone is clipped. And yet, I’m also aware that I’m being a big hypocrite with my indignation. I haven’t forgotten how I rifled through her desk in my first week at Nexus Tech, driven by some primal need to know her. But two wrongs don’t make a right, and right now, all I feel is wronged.

“Crappy move, I know.” Elizabeth looks down, and there it is again—that tap, tap, tap of her foot against the hardwood floor. “I just felt like there’s so much you don’t share. I wanted to understand you better.”

“Understanding doesn’t come from snooping, Elizabeth.” I lean back on the desk, away from her, trying to put physical distance between us and hoping it’ll cool the heat of my temper. “It comes from trust. Something you just broke.”

Her face falls a notch, and I hate that it twists something in my gut—the guilt and protectiveness I have no business feeling.

“I know,” she says, her gaze steady. “I’ve been wanting to be closer to you, Hendrix. It’s like I can’t stop myself from craving…” Her sentence dangles, unfinished, but the air around us fills with unsaid confessions.

“Craving what, exactly?” My jaw clenches as I watch her, every muscle in my body tight with anger—or something dangerously close to desire.

“Maybe it’s not just the snooping you’re mad about,” she ventures, blue eyes searching mine.

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe there’s more tension that’s not just about the files. Maybe it’s…” She hesitates, then steels herself. “Sexual tension. Making us both a little crazy.”

“Sexual ten- Are you serious?” I bark out a laugh that sounds more strangled than amused. But then, as if her words are a spell, I feel an undeniable twitch below the belt, a visceral reaction to the mere suggestion.

“Have you ever thought about it? About bending me over, spanking me for being such a naughty girl?” Her voice is a dangerous purr now, and my whole body reacts. I feel myself harden, the primal part of me roaring to life, imagining just that.

The image slams into me, visceral and vivid. My body betrays my composed exterior, a rush of heat pooling low as my pants suddenly feel way too tight.

“Elizabeth…” I start, but the rest of the sentence gets lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth, because suddenly, there’s not enough blood left up there to form coherent thoughts.

“Maybe you want it, too?” she says.

I glance down at her, taking in the determined tilt of her chin, the way her hair frames her face, the depths of those earnest blue eyes. She’s all soft curves and steely resolve. Does she even know what she’s doing to me?

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