Page 105 of Dating Goals
“What? No.”
“That British guy,” he practically growls. “Durand. Is he in your room right now?”
“Of course not!” I sputter, genuinely offended. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because you’re acting strange, Anika.” He steps closer, invading my personal space in a way that makes my heart stutter. “Evasive.”
“I’m not being evasive!”
“Then let’s go there. Now.” His voice leaves no room for argument.
I press my lips together,
“Look, Griffin, it’s late. We’re both tired.”
“He doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as you,” Griffin interrupts, his voice dropping to something dark and possessive. “And if he forgets that, I’ll remind him.”
“There’s no one in my room,” I snap, frustration bubbling up. “And even if there was, it wouldn’t be your business.”
“It absolutely would be,” Griffin says, his voice dropping dangerously low. “I don’t share.”
Heat floods my cheeks with something I refuse to acknowledge. “Share? Share what exactly? I’m not yours to share!”
“You didn’t see it, but I did. The way he watched you tonight.”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, brushing past him toward the elevators. I jab the button with more force than necessary, fuming.
Griffin follows, his long strides easily catching up. “Anika, wait.”
“I need to go to bed. Alone,” I emphasize, glaring at him. “And you need to get some rest before tomorrow’s game.”
The elevator arrives with a cheerful ding that feels wildly inappropriate for the tension crackling between us. I take a step inside, hoping he’ll take the hint and stay behind.
When Griffin moves to follow me, I place my hand against his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath my palm.
Instead of backing away, Griffin places his hand over mine, trapping it against his chest.
Then he steps forward, backing me inside the elevator. He towers over me, his body radiating heat and his eyes burning with something that makes my knees weak.
“We’re not done talking about this,” he says, backing me against the mirrored wall. His hands plant on either side of my head, caging me in with his considerable height and breadth.
The proximity is overwhelming. I can count every eyelash, see the faint stubble on his jaw, smell the faint trace of whiskeyon his breath. For one wild moment, I think he might kiss me again. A part of me—a reckless, stupid part—hopes he will.
Instead, I duck under his arm and step to the front of the elevator. “Yes, we are.”
I should be alarmed. I should push him out of this elevator. Instead, my traitorous heart gallops in my chest begging for more, more, more.
And then his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding. This isn’t the gentle, questioning kiss from the helipad. This is possession, pure and simple. His hands cradle my face as he deepens the kiss, and for one shameful moment, I melt into him.
His body presses against mine, solid and warm, and I find my hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders. My fingers brush against his collar, then dig into his shoulders as the elevator lurches upward, matching the swooping sensation in my stomach. Griffin’s mouth moves hungrily against mine, like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.
I arch into him, my fingers tangling in those perfect curls I’ve been dying to touch since the first day I saw him.
“Anika,” he groans against my mouth, the sound vibrating through me like electricity.
His hands travel down, one settling at the small of my back while the other traces the curve of my hip. Each touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake. I’m melting, dissolving, becoming something molten and desperate in his arms.
The elevator continues its ascent, each floor chiming softly in the background. A countdown to when this madness must end. But I don’t want it to end. I want to stay suspended in this moment forever, where there are no spies or schemes or bugs to plant. Just Griffin’s mouth hot against mine, his hands mapping every curve.
