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“Wow, it’s...beautiful,” I murmur slowly, touching it delicately. “You mean this thing has a mic in it?”
“Embedded in the pearls,” Roland answers. Am I imagining things, or is there a touch of satisfaction in his voice? “You seem attracted to this style. I thought it would suit you.”
Oh.
Oh, no.
He picked this out personally...hoping I would like it?
No.
No, he explicitly did not.
Let’s be real. He picked it out to make sure it would camouflage well while he sends me on his little spy quest, and nothing more.
Snapping the box shut, I throw him a suspicious glance. “If you had this, why did you even bring up the garter?”
“To fuck with you,” he says bluntly, his voice and expression never changing.
A startled noise bounces out of me.
A suppressed laugh, if I’m being honest.
I can’t help it.
“You really have zero shame,” I hiss, uncrossing my legs as I reach out to push the arm of his chair with the toe of my shoe, sending him rolling an inch or two.
The corners of his mouth flick up—just barely.
“None whatsoever. Genetically deficient.”
“That qualifies as sexual harassment, you know. Ask Wanda if you don’t believe me.”
“Does it?”
Oh, God.
This man really is a serpent, and I think about the time he reminded me so much of a cobra ready to strike. Only, right now, it’s a cobra mesmerizing its prey, the embodiment of his purring, rolling voice, the touch of suggestion that his expression never betrays.
It’s like he’s all cold stone on the surface, but underneath there’s lava, hinted at in the low murmurs and smolder of those deep, compelling words.
He hasn’t even implied anything.
My mind and body don’t care.
They’re racing.
Yeah, I need to get the hell out of here.
I slide off the desk, catching my skirt with one hand to keep it from riding up, the other clutching the box.
“Fine, whatever,” I mutter, avoiding his eyes. “Are we done? I’m going to be late for Easterly.”
I start moving, but stop in my tracks as he commands softly, “Come here.”
Right before those long fingers pluck the box out of my hand, making sure I can’t go anywhere until he gives it back.
The soft creak of the chair warns me before he stands—and then his body heat invades me, wrapping around me like a sheath, a trap, pulling me into him.
Forcing slow, deep breaths, I make myself turn and look up at him.
He stops too close to me.
I can’t escape that mesmerizing blue gaze as he opens the box once more and lifts the little hairpin out.
There’s no hiding how I tremble as he reaches up and gently tucks the pin into my hair.
His touch is so light, but it’s electric. His fingers skim my temples, tingling against my scalp as the pin slides in.
Then his gaze flicks away to his hands, and I’m caught by the thick fringe of his eyelashes, devilishly dark. They accent the stark angles of his face, his chiseled jaw.
From below, his stubbled jawline is a saber’s edge, leading down to the strong, taut muscles of his throat.
Yes, I’m staring.
Staring like a transfixed fool. His touch takes me captive without even trying—and I’m caught as his dusk-blue eyes drop to me again.
He draws one hand back while the other lingers, catching a loose lock of my hair and flicking the brightly dyed tip against my cheek.
A feathery tickle that makes my pulse leap.
“Blue and red,” he rumbles, studying me intently with that evil hint of a not-smile. “Fire in the sky. Makes color pairing a little harder, doesn’t it?”
“Not if I stick to my primaries. I like sunrise colors.” A touch of defensiveness makes it easier to unglue my tongue, firing off words without thinking, a spark of challenge rising in me.
Instead of pulling away from him, I lean in.
He’s not the only one who can take up too much space.
His blue eyes gleam with interest.
“Do you not like my style, Mr. Osprey? Am I breaking another rule around here?” I whisper.
“On the contrary.” He slowly twines my hair around his fingers, giving the faintest tug that makes it feel like it wasn’t my choice to move closer. He’s pulling my leash and making me weak in the knees. “I find it fascinating.”
Fascinating.
But then, with that cryptic statement, he lets go and steps back.
The air fills the emptiness between us, cooling the molten swirl of body heat that was there a second ago.
“Keep the blue, Snoopy. It lights you up like the Fourth of July.” His lips quirk cynically.
Oh, wow.
I’m too flattered to care that there’s something strange about the way he’s watching me.
His mouth is sardonic and cold, but there’s a flame in his eyes.
Unmistakable heat, plus something haunted and tired and sad. It’s so confusing I don’t know what to make of it, or him.
Honestly, I shouldn’t be trying.
I step back, taking a breath to clear my head.
