Page 75 of The Apparent Trap

“No,” I admit.

He kisses me again, harder. He’s kissing me like I’m his last meal and he wants to savor every bite. One hand stays in my hair while the other roams my curves, under my shirt, just flirting along my sides like the skin is the prize and he doesn’t need anything else.

“Should I stop?” he asks.

“What?” I’m so dazed I think I’ve misheard him.

“‘All the reasons,’” he repeats, my words from earlier coming back to haunt me.

“Please don’t stop,” I say, my body involuntarily pressing against him harder, needing friction, craving everything about him.

All other thoughts are being wiped out. I can’t think about why we shouldn’t. I can’t keep reciting the monologue of “why else’s” that’s been playing on repeat nonstop since he said them. All I can think about are his lips, his tongue, his arms, his body, everything I’m craving and haven’t had a single moment’s release from. I can’t decide what to do next. I want to rip off his sweater for putting too much space between us. I want to run my hands across his stubble just to feel more of him. I want—

I do not want the buzzer to ring.

But that’s what’s happening.

Fuck.

The fucking pizza.

I try to ignore it. But my buzzer is loudly persistent, and after a few seconds, Lee pulls back.

“Don’t you um . . .” He’s breathing hard, staring at me like he can’t believe he’s taken a step away. “Do you have to answer that?”

“No?”

“No?” he repeats.

“I mean . . .” I sigh. Press the button on my door to let the delivery guy in. “Yeah. I ordered pizza. Before Georgia arrived. I forgot. I mean, I thought you were the pizza, actually. That’s why I just buzzed you in. Normally I wouldn’t just buzz someone in. In New York? That’s crazy. Anyone could be at your door.”

I’m babbling, and he’s watching it happen without a word. Maybe my rambling has stunned him into silence?

Thankfully the doorbell rings. I open the door to an uninterested pizza guy and grab the box. “Thanks for this,” I say, but he’s already walking back to the elevator.

I turn back to Lee, shutting the door. “Want a slice?” I ask, opening the top.

He looks in and starts to chuckle. “It’s like a BLT pizza.”

“No,” I say quickly, pulling the box back toward me. “It’s spinach and ham!”

“It’s a type of lettuce and a bacon-adjacent pork product on top of tomato sauce.”

I look down. “Damn,” I say softly. He’s not wrong.

But when my eyes come back to his, I know the moment is lost.

“It’s all the reasons, isn’t it?” I ask.

He nods, regret etched in his expression. “With Carmen—”

But I hold up my hand. “I know.” And I mean it. “We shouldn’t. We can’t.”

“We can’t,” he repeats.

I lean against the door. I need space from Lee if I’m going to be able to look at him without remembering how his teeth felt on my collarbone.

“When Carmen told you that Georgia did the segment . . .” I start, wondering.