Page 52 of The Wrong Play

“Every time I get close, you bolt,” he murmured, his voice like smoke and silk. “Why is that?”

Because you’re dangerous.

Because you make me feel things I don’t want to feel.

Because the last time a man gave me this kind of attention,it nearly destroyed me.

I lifted my chin, trying to act unaffected. “Maybe I don’t like you.”

His grin deepened, feral and knowing. “Riley-girl, we both know that’s not true.”

I scowled, heat licking at my skin. “It could be.”

His hand lifted, and I sucked in a breath as he traced the curve of my jaw with the back of his knuckles, his touch featherlight but devastating. My pulse pounded so hard I felt dizzy.

His voice dipped lower, rough with amusement. “And yet, you can’t stop looking at me.”

I tore my gaze away, jaw clenching. “You’re literally half-naked in a confined space, Jace. It’s called human instinct.”

He hummed, pretending to consider. “Mmm. I think it’s something else.”

The air between us felt thick, charged. My skin tingled, my body betraying me in every possible way. I was hot, flushed, completely wound up—and he knew it.

His fingers traveled down my throat, skimming my collarbone, before they traced the delicate strap of my dress. His touch left goosebumps in its wake.

“You can’t stop looking at me,” he murmured, his lips inches from mine. “And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Something snapped.

Before I could stop myself, my hands were on his bare shoulders, and then I was kissing him.

Hard.

Jace didn’t hesitate.

He groaned against my lips, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me against him like he wanted to fuse us together. My fingers dug into his skin, and I felt every inch of him—his strength, his heat, the raw, electric energy humming between us.

His lips moved against mine with deliberate hunger, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth, stealing my breath. He kissed me like he wanted to own me, wreck me, ruin me for anyone else.

And I let him.

Because God help me, I wanted to be ruined.

One of his hands slid into my hair, tilting my head back so he could kiss me deeper. His other hand dragged down my spine, past my waist, gripping the back of my thigh. With one swift movement, he lifted me, pressing me against the cool elevator wall.

I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his grip tightening, his body pressed flush against mine. I could feel him—hot, hard, and completely unashamed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath ragged. “You feel so fucking good.”

His mouth moved down my jaw, my neck, licking and teasing, his teeth grazing my skin. I gasped as his lips found the hollow of my throat and he sucked gently. A sound left me that was utterly humiliating, and he smirked against my skin.

His fingers gripped my hips, grinding me against him, and I let out a desperate, breathy moan, my head falling back against the wall.

“Jace—”

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I know.”

I shuddered. “Jace…”

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