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“String.” He held up a white thread, then let it flutter to the floor. His eyes danced over her face before lingering on her lips, then to the pearl button he was brushing with his thumb.
Isa tried to regulate her breathing, but it was hard to inhale when the air between them hung thick with longing.
Another swirl of his thumb over the button and Eli’s eyes flicked to hers again. “Am I scaring you?”
He made her feel lots of things, but scared wasn’t one of them. Isa was often in control. Of everyone. Of everything. Rarely was there a part of her world she didn’t own one hundred percent. Until Eli. He’d challenged her every step of the way. And like he knew she could handle him, she knew he could handle her.
“Are you trying to scare me?” she asked.
Uncertainty flooded his eyes. Until now, she was certain she was someone Eli tolerated. Now she felt like someone Eli wanted. As much as she wanted him.
He continued rolling the button between his forefinger and thumb, the corners of his mouth turned down in thought. The pendulum hung in the balance between them and Isa was determined to let it swing.
“Do it.” She whispered the challenge, her eyes on his. “I won’t run.”
The frown left, his eyes narrowing as he raised the knife. Isa lifted her chin, giving him space. With the flick of a wrist, the blade of the knife moved and another thread snapped. The pearl button hit the concrete floor of the warehouse with a plink and the gasp of air Isa sucked in now was laced with desire.
She offered an encouraging half-smile.
Eli sliced another thread. Then another. And another. Until her buttons were scattered on the floor and her shirt sagged open. Her breasts lifted and fell as she drew in ragged breaths, as shocked as she was confused. As turned on as she was intrigued.
“Eli,” was the only word that made it from her parted lips as one repetitive thought banged against the front of her skull, an incantation she couldn’t deny.
Kiss me.
Kiss me.
Kiss me…
***
He hadn’t been trying to scare her. Then he found himself hovering over her, knife in hand, and had scared himself. But Isa wasn’t afraid. She didn’t see him as a monster but as a man. And right now, a woman he wanted stood before him.
He brushed his fingers along Isa’s satin-soft skin, between her breasts rising and falling in a white lace bra, down her flat, smooth stomach, and along the waistband of her pants.
Whiskey-colored eyes locked on his. Her full lips parted as she pulled in a breath, and every ounce of man in him wanted to sample every drop of woman in her.
He leaned closer, satisfaction coating his chest when Isa’s eyelids slid shut and she leaned closer to him. He captured her waiting lips, gently, and heat engulfed him like the entire warehouse had caught fire. Desire singed his torso, scorched his spine, incinerated his brain. Her pillowy lips gave and took until a high mewl came from her throat.
She smelled like spice cake and tasted better, her own brand of fire and smoke and sex. It’d been too long since he’d had a woman in his arms and this woman was all woman. From her high, high heels to her long, long legs hiding beneath a pair of inconvenient pants, to the delicate blouse he cut every last button off of and still longed to see what was underneath.
He dropped the knife to the table behind her and locked his free arm around her waist. She dipped with him, allowing him to tip her back, her long hair tickling his forearm. When he righted them both, his hand went to her jaw and he held her lips to his.
She didn’t balk.
She advanced one step, two, until her knees bumped his leg…and his prosthesis. Her lips disconnected from his with a subtle pop, her eyes going wide. The fire licking between them smothered in the hanging silence.
She’d touched the part of him that wasn’t him and now those dark lust-filled eyes were filled with alarm. Like she’d forgotten she was kissing a man who wasn’t complete.
“I thought you weren’t scared,” he said between clenched teeth.
He let her go, frustrated with himself for getting this far, for taking what he wanted when jealousy roared to life over Zachary Ferguson, for God’s sake. Isa wasn’t Eli’s to have. Up until two seconds ago, he would’ve bet she didn’t even like him.
He started away from her, feeling pissed or confused or maybe both in equal measure.
“Where are you going?” She snatched a palmful of his T-shirt and tugged, her eyes going to his legs as he shifted on his weight. This time the heat that lit within him was his temper.
He turned, not the least bit smoothly, and leaned in. “Why’d you kiss me?”
