“For future reference,” he murmured, “that spot is… very persuasive.”
My breath hitched.
He didn’t let go.
He lifted my hand with obscene patience, inch by inch, until it lingered perilously close to the part of him no girl should touch unless he allowed it. And he was allowing far too much.
“Is this where you wanted to touch me?” he asked, voice velvet and smoke, as my fingers hovered so close to him that I could feel the heat radiating through the fabric. “Or was that your way of keeping me from your little secret?”
I swallowed so hard it hurt.
He smirked.
“There it is,” he whispered. “The truth.”
He finally released my hand.
I snatched my hand back just in time, fingers trembling at the edge of something I shouldn’t have been anywhere near.
Then he held my phone just out of reach, his other hand resting on his knee like he was considering letting me try again.
“Cute move,” he said. “But next time you try to distract me—“ his eyes dropped to my mouth, lingering, “you’ll have to commit.”
Heat shot through me, humiliating and sharp.
“I wasn’t trying to distract you,” I lied.
His laugh was low.
Dangerous.
“Princess,” he said, leaning in until his breath brushed my cheek, “you were willing to grab my thigh to stop me from seeing a single message. If that’s not distraction, then you’re flirting with me.”
My pulse convulsed.
“No,” I breathed.
“Yes,” he corrected, softly. “And you’re terrible at it.”
My heart hammered painfully.
His thumb brushed the edge of my phone.
“I’ll let you keep this secret,” he continued. “For now.”
Relief cracked through me, too visible.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
His smile sharpened.
“You should stop making it so obvious when you’re scared,” he murmured. “It makes me curious.”
Then, finally, he placed my phone back in my palm.
Warm from his touch.
