Page 81 of Take It Offline

It’s almost impossible, holding myself back from kissing him, with his tie loosened, voice rough, ripe for the taking. I want to curl that silk around my wrist, drag him the last few inches, bite down.

I want to pull and push and needle my way under that shirt. I want to slip under his skin until his blood is roaring in his ears and he can’t think beyond the sound of my name as it leaves his lips.

But I’ve been told before that those aren’t things I should want. I need to sit back, wait my turn, and be responsive, not aggressive.

So I tuck the urge away and say good night, waiting until I’m alone to let it out. And if I come from the memory of Charlie at my feet, hair tight in my grip, that’s between me and midnight.

CHAPTER 27

LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN

EMMA

Ihope there never comes a day where Charlie stops surprising me.

Tonight, I open the door and find him in a trilby and a trench coat, like he’s Humphrey Bogart.

As he leans in, his dark wood and spice cologne makes my knees weak.

“Evening,” he says, low and sultry. “Name’s Charlie. I’ll be looking after you tonight.”

It’s hot and ridiculous, and I have to stop myself from jumping him in the hallway. At least none of my neighbors are around.

I wave him inside, then I lock the door behind him and lean against it, tugging him in by the coat's belt loops. “Come here, Nancy Drew. Let me take your coat.”

The hat goes first. As good as it looks—and it really has no right looking so good—it’s a crime to cover up that hair.

Slowly, I slip the ends of the belt free, the quiet sound mingling with our breaths. He’s watching me, standing close enough to kiss, arms by his sides. His attention is like a drug, making me high, tearing away my inhibitions.

It also makes me want to curl up beside him and never let go.

I keep my attention on the buttons as I undo them, one by one. The fine make of the coat is clear as I study it. Good stitching, a little wear and tear.

Vintage. Possibly from the ’60s.

Interesting.

“What is it?” Charlie asks softly.

On a hunch, I abandon the buttons and inspect the lapel, confirming it’s double stitched.

“Emm—”

“Shh, I’m trying to work,” I whisper, enjoying the soft feel of worn cotton and the heat radiating from his body.

In my periphery, his grin grows, and my own smile softly settles. I run my hands down his chest. Double breasted. Peak lapels. Plaid interior. The color’s faded, but the coat is well looked after. I bet the label still has the original ‘s’.

It’s definitely original. Burberry. Like everything else, it suits him.

When I look up, I realize how close we’ve drifted. I only need to tilt my chin up for our noses to brush.

A little closer, and I could kiss him.

Curling my fingers around his collar, I fight the urge to lean in. This was my one rule.

Clear. Concise. Smart.

“Ready, sweetheart?” His voice is dangerously soft. It sends butterflies skittering around my stomach, which is exactly why I need to get us back on track.

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