Page 67 of Holding Out

That socked him in the middle of the chest.Maybe because she’d guessed it was Marina’s boyfriend, Scott, who he’d fantasized about hitting.Or maybe it was hearing her say Marina’s name.Like Marina was supposed to be completely separate from Becca.Or maybe it was the other way around.

“That must have been awful.”

Her expression was soft.It made the ache in his chest worse.

“Pretty bad, yeah.”

“You got blindsided.”

Startled, his eyes met hers.And he didn’t have any time to hide either the surprise or the truth, which was,yes,that’s itexactly.Blindsided.

She saw him so clearly.It was fucking unnerving.“Yeah.”

“You must hate surprises, now.”

“Guess I do.”

Her eyes searched his face.A little worried, if he had to guess, like maybe she shouldn’t have gone down this path.But then her expression changed.She got a mischievous look on her face.

“So if I told you I wasn’t wearing any panties ...”she teased.

She barely had the sentence out, but he could already see, feel, and smell it: her bare ass against the fabric of her skirt, the silk of her pussy touched by the cool air between her thighs, spread just a little, her clit stiffening.He imagined he could catch the sea-salt scent of her from here.

All the blood in his entire body had detoured to his dick, leaving him light-headed.“Are you really not?”he demanded.

She laughed, cheeks pink, eyes bright.“No.I mean, I reallyamwearing panties.I was just testing how far your hatred of surprises goes.”She smirked.“Although they have had kind of a ...damp day, what with the copier room and all.”

“Oh, Jesus, baby.”He leaned back and gave her a lazy perusal.She folded her arms over her peaking nipples and then, with a deliberateness that made it even sexier, crossed her thighs.He leaned over the table.“What if I said you should go to the bathroom and take them off?”

“I’d do it,” she murmured, leaning in.“Of course.In the interest of my sexual education.”

He was having some trouble breathing, on account of how much of his body’s resources had been diverted south.

“Go,” Griff said, his voice barely more than a rasp.

And she went.

32

She was glad she’d worn a slip under her dress, because the way he looked at her through the rest of dinner, eyes burning, she would have had a wet spot when she stood up.

“Do you want dessert?”he asked her, when a waitress—not Lily—had taken their dinners away.

“Would it be painful if I said yes?”she asked.

He shook his head.“I’m enjoying the anticipation,” he murmured.“I hope you are, too.”

She was.The cool air between her legs and the silk of her slip against her bare skin.

She had Boston cream pie, licking the custard off the fork in a way she meant to turn him on.He never took his eyes off her, likeshewas his dessert, and her body was all confused between the taste and sensation on her tongue and how lit-up the rest of her felt, like sex and food couldn’t figure out how to coexist in her brain.

Afterward they walked out to his truck.She snuck a look his way and saw that he was watching her.

“Ever had sex in a pickup truck flatbed, under a blanket, in a field, beneath the stars?”

She shook her head.

“Want to?”

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