Page 7 of Wilde and Untamed
“Natural caffeine that could power a small aircraft.” He handed the flute back to her. “You’re going to crash later.”
“I don’t crash. I land gracefully.” She took another sip to prove a point and eyed his stiff shoulders. His gaze hadn’t stopped moving since he stepped off the elevator. She elbowed his ribs. “You’re allergic to fun, aren’t you? It’s a medical condition. We should get you checked.”
Elliot’s mouth quirked at the corner, barely visible, but she’d learned to watch for it. That tiny tell meant he was fighting a smile.
“I’m not allergic to fun, Trouble. This is just not my idea of it.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what’s your idea of fun? Color coding your sock drawer? Spreadsheets?”
His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, and the heat in his eyes told her he was definitely thinking of spreading some sheets.
Preferably with her between them.
Heat bloomed across Rue’s skin like wildfire. She’d meant to tease him, but suddenly the joke felt secondary to the way his gaze traced her features.
Elliot’s jaw tightened. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?” She blinked innocently, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
“Pushing.”
“Is it working?”
“You know it is.”
Little sparks of electricity skittered over her nerve endings. She’d been flirting with him for months, testing boundaries, seeing how far she could push before he snapped. But this felt different.
More dangerous.
More real.
“I want to see what happens when Mr. Control loses a little of his famous restraint,” she said.
“Trust me, Rue,” Elliot said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “You don’t want to see that.”
Dampness rushed between her thighs, and her breath caught.
“Maybe I do.” She stepped closer, until they were practically sharing breath, and traced a finger over that jumping muscle in his jaw. The scent of his cologne wrapped around her, woodsy and clean. It made her want to bury her face against his neck. “Tell me something, El. Do you ever just... let go? Do something reckless?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he murmured. “With you.”
The way he said it—like following her was the most dangerous thing he could imagine—sent a thrill racing up her spine.
“Oh, honey.” She reached up to straighten his tie, then let her fingers trail up to linger against his throat. “This isn’t reckless. Not yet.”
“Rue.” Her name came out rough, like gravel, and she felt it vibrate through his chest where they were pressed together.
She was playing with fire. She knew it. Had known it since the moment she’d called him and asked him to come to Antarctica with her. But knowing something and caring about it were two entirely different things, and right now, with his hand burning against her back and his scent filling her lungs and her panties wet with need, she found she didn’t care at all.
“Yes?” she whispered, tilting her face up toward his.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. Right there in the middle of Atlas Frost’s glittering penthouse, surrounded by Manhattan’s elite and people who were asking too many questions about her expedition. The possibility sent her pulse skittering like a stone across water.
Then his expression shifted, the heat banking behind that iron control of his, and he stepped back just enough to break the spell.
“We should probably mingle.” His voice was carefully neutral now, no longer that sexy rumble. “Play the happy couple.”
The sudden distance hit her like cold water, and she had to fight not to chase after the warmth he’d just withdrawn.
