Page 4 of Off-Limits Bad Boy

To my surprise, a sharp laugh breaks from her lips. To cover, I take a drink, watching her over the rim of my glass as her laughter bubbles up, genuine and light, and it spreads through me like wildfire, scorching any resolve I have left.

“Careful, or I might start thinking you like me,” she says.

She’s so close to figuring it out, but so far away.

“Wouldn't that be something?” I murmur, taking another sip from my glass as the liquid fire does nothing to quell the heat she stirs within me.

The guys wander over, and Emma offers them their favorite drinks. As she pours them, I can’t help but tease her even more. “Your pouring technique is a disaster.”

Of course, I love watching her delicate hands on the bottles - yeah, that’s why - as she fills glass after glass with practiced ease. She is the picture of grace under pressure, even as she shoots an offended glance my direction.

“Disaster?” Her sky-blue eyes flash with challenge. “I've been doing this since before you could spell 'bourbon,' Kade.”

“Are you insulting my spelling?” I ask.

She shifts, suddenly uncomfortable as she glances at the bouncers, who are doing their best to pretend they can’t hear us.

“I- uh.” She’s flustered, and I’m not about to let this opportunity go. Leaning in, I move as close to her as I can without touching and speak into her ear. “And can you pour without splashing?” I ask in a deliberately infuriating tone.

“Watch and learn, caveman.” She pours another, not a drop out of place as the guys shift, their uncomfortable gestures telling me they just want to escape.

But I wasn't done with her yet.

“Missed a spot,” I lie, pointing to a pristine area of the counter.

Emma's gaze follows my gesture, then shoots back to me, her eyes narrowing. “You're impossible.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” I say, acting like I’m going to bow. Instead, I shift my weight toward her as she moves away, giving the guys their drinks and saying her thanks. I lean in, inhaling her scent—a mix of vanilla and something indefinably Emma. It was intoxicating, a sensory memory that has haunted me for years.

“Need help?” I ask, our bodies inches apart.

Her gaze darts around the room, as if looking for an escape, then lands on mine with a spark of irritation. “Do I really need to hold your hand and walk you through all of the tasks that need to be completed before opening?”

“Absolutely,” I say, nodding earnestly. “I'd like that.”

The realization that I mean I’d like to hold her hand dawns on her. A frustrated grunt escapes her lips, and she turns away, her curly, light brown hair swishing with the motion.

“Fine. Since you're so helpless, go into the walk-in and get me the Merlot from the top shelf. The one with the gold label.”

“Gold label Merlot, got it,” I say slowly, feigning confusion. “But, uh, what does Merlot look like again?”

I’m pretty sure I saw her eye twitch and I know she’s about to go nuclear. “Kade!” She throws her hands up, exasperation adding color to her cheeks. “It's a glass bottle. With red wine in it. How do you even function?”

“Miracles,” I say with a wink. “And if I'm not back in thirty minutes, send a search and rescue team.”

“Try not to get lost in your own ego on the way.” I hear her say as I saunter off toward the walk-in cooler. Every step takes me further from the heat of her presence, but not her effect on me.

In the cooler, I find the bottle was right where she said it would be, the gold label catching the dim light of the walk-in as if it knew it was the whole reason I’m here.

My hand hovers over the bottle, the cool air of the room brushing against my skin. I pick up the wine, but then I pause, setting it back down in its place.

“Take your time, Kade,” I mutter to myself. “Make her think you're just being a stubborn ass.” It’s also an excuse to regain my composure. I can’t be around her for too long before my whole body starts short-circuiting.

I know she sent me away to get rid of me for a few. I can’t help but wonder how our back and forth affects her. Does she like this twisted game of pushing her away and keeping her at arm’s length?

Deep in thought, I lean back against the cold metal shelves, my arms crossed. The minutes tick by, somehow so slow even though my time with her flies like hours are mere seconds.

Making Emma hate me has become an almost enjoyable pastime. She doesn't know that every barb, every taunt, is a twisted confession of sorts. I want her laugh, her fiery glances, her everything—but she is forbidden territory.

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