Page 12 of Cold Comeback
His hands slid under my shirt first, fingertips hot against my skin, and then his mouth crashed into mine.
The kiss was desperate. Hungry. Nothing like the careful control he showed everywhere else. His mouth was hot anddemanding, and I parted my lips for him like I'd been waiting my entire life for the moment.
His hand raked into my hair, gripping tight enough to make me gasp. The sound seemed to break something in him, because suddenly his other hand was on my hip, pulling me closer, and every rock-hard inch of him pressed against me.
My hands touched molten skin under his shirt, sliding over muscle. He groaned into my mouth.
"Fuck," he breathed against my lips, and then his mouth was on my neck, finding a spot that made my knees buckle.
I pushed my leg between his, moving just enough to create friction. "Gideon—"
The sound of wheels on linoleum cut through the haze. A janitor's cart, getting closer.
We sprang apart like we'd been electrocuted, both breathing hard, staring at each other like we couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
"Fuck," Gideon said again, but this time it wasn't desire. It was horror. He ran both hands through his hair. "Fuck."
I reached for him. "Gideon—"
He backed away. "This—damn it, this can't happen."
"But it did happen."
"It was a mistake."
The words were a vicious slap. "Right. Your reputation."
"The team. My position. You can't—your situation—"
"My situation," I repeated. "You mean my baggage."
"That's not what I—"
"Isn't it?" I straightened my shirt and tried to get my breathing under control. "Don't worry, Cap. Message received."
So much for the captain who lectured rookies about discipline.
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the janitor rounded the corner, pushing his cart and humming off-key. Wenodded at him like ordinary people who definitely hadn't just been groping each other against the wall.
"See you tomorrow." It was the only thing I could think of to say.
"Drake—"
I was already on my way out.
The parking lot was a furnace. The asphalt radiated August heat around me as I pushed through the doors. I sat in my rental car for a long time, engine running, AC blasting, trying to process what had just happened.
When I flipped down the visor mirror, there was a red mark on my neck where his mouth had been. I touched it, and my skin was still sensitive. Still humming. Fuck, I looked like I'd been mauled by someone who'd forgotten how to keep control.
I could still taste him. Could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin.
My phone buzzed. For a second, my heart jumped, thinking it might be him. It was only a notification from some app I'd forgotten I'd downloaded.
I drove back to the hotel on autopilot. My brain replayed the last ten minutes on loop. The desperation in his kiss. How he'd said my name. The look on his face when he'd called it a mistake.
In my room, I paced. Ordered room service I didn't eat. Stared at my phone and typed messages I'd never send.
I can still taste you.
