Page 116 of Tipping Point

“Finn!”

I startle. “Yeah?”

“I’m saying Jack’s coming over for lunch tomorrow. Apparently, you guys need to test the new car design over the next few weeks. Erik is beyond excited.”

“Right.”

“Aren’t you excited?”

I mull it over. “Yes.”

She laughs. She’s been teasing me since she’s been back. She says I talk slower, take longer pauses. She says I’m talking with intent.

Oddly, it’s the best compliment I have ever received in my life.

I snatch the edge of the table and give it a shake.

The empty cup rattles in the saucer and she jumps forwards to grab it, protecting it from falling with her hands.

“Finn!”

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted to clear the table. Put you up there instead.”

I shake the table again.

“Finn!”

* * *

FINN

She’s a fucking vision. She wears an emerald-green dress I bought her, a silk thing that pools at her feet, backless with two thin straps that cross each other just beneath her shoulder blades. I’m already dressed. I just came to see how far she was, to hurry her along.

She’s trying to step into dainty strappy stilettos, tugging the silk up over her creamy legs, picking up her feet to buckle the straps.

Fuck that.

When she stands upright, I grab her by the back of her head, my fingers sinking into the golden curls she had carefully piled up, loose strands tumbling down to frame her face.

Her lips are red, like the soles of her shoes.

She opens her mouth, but it isn’t to scold me. Her eyes are already a stormy ocean, and when I lower my mouth onto hers, she relents with a sigh.

She lets me trail kisses down her bare neck before she talks.

“We’re going to be late.” She slips a hand into my pants and slides her fingertips over my erection, swirling a circular pattern on the tip.

“Let’s stay.”

I tug a thin strap off her shoulder, running a thin wet line over her skin with my tongue.

“You mean to tell me I wasted all that time getting ready?”

“You didn’t waste it at all. It’s now just being appreciated by an audience of one.”

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