Page 23 of Stuffed

“Can’t you be patient, Miss Marlow?” He steps a touch closer as we exit the elevator and walk through the lobby, then outside to where he’s parked. He opens my door, leaning in close. "Haven’t you ever heard of a thing called delayed gratification?"

"Seriously?" My tone doesn’t hide my sarcasm. “I think I might know a thing or two about that.” Before I slide past him into the seat, I rest my hand against his chest for a brief second, pausing, giving him a good view of the dress. His eyes drop and his sharp intake of breath is deeply satisfying.

The drive is charged with tension. Every red light is torture, every casual brush of his hand on the gearshift makes my skin tingle. When we pull up to an intimate Italian restaurant, I raise an eyebrow.

"No trendy hotspot or expensive steakhouse?” I say, referencing the few times I’ve seen paparazzi photos of him out and about, always at the newest hotspot with someone new on his arm.

"I save those for business meetings." He helps me out of the car, his hand lingering on mine. "This is definitely not business."

"No?" I step closer, straightening his collar. "Then what is it?"

"You tell me." His eyes are dark, intense. "You're the one who started this game."

"Game?" I breathe, too aware of how close we're standing. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Isn't it? The glasses, the desk, all those little challenges…"

"Maybe I'm just tired of waiting for you to make a move."

His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “Mmm… you’re dangerous.”

"You keep saying that." I lean into his touch. "Like it's a bad thing."

"It is." But he's smiling slightly. "You make me want things I shouldn't."

"Like what?"

Instead of answering, he kisses me. Right there on the sidewalk, one hand on my face, the other pulling me closer. It's everything I've imagined and nothing like I expected. He kisses like he means it, like he's done holding back. His tongue slips past my lips, caressing against mine.

A gasp escapes, a soft moan tumbling from my lips. He nips at my lips before sucking gently on my tongue, the excitement coursing through my body like white-hot electricity.

If this man told me he was going to bend me over on this street and take me to pound town right now, I’m certain I’d let him. Public indecency be damned.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. I’m dazed, swaying on the sidewalk outside the restaurant like my entire world’s just been turned upside down.

"Like that," he says roughly. "I shouldn't want that."

"But you do." I fist a handful of his sweater, loving how his muscles jump under my touch. "And I want it too."

"Tessa—"

"No more running," I whisper. "No more walls. Just dinner, and maybe…"

"Maybe?"

I rise on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Maybe dessert."

He groans, pulling back slightly. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Only if you're lucky." I grab his hand, tugging him toward the restaurant. "Now, come on. I'm starving."

"For food or…?"

"That depends entirely on how this dinner goes." I shoot him a look over my shoulder. "Think you can keep up?"

His answering smile is downright wicked. "Game on, Tessa. Game on."

And as he follows me inside, I can't help but think I've finally started to break through those walls of his. Now I just have to make sure he doesn't build them back up again.

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