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He laughs. “Don’t worry, feistypants. They have sensors. I wouldn’t have lost my hand.”
“Feistypants. I hate that.”
“Stop being so feisty then.”
“And let you get away with all sorts of shit? Never.” I reach down and squeeze his thigh.
“Fuck off!” he shouts, laughing.
“Tickle tickle.” I grin, grabbing both of his legs and squeezing several times very quickly.
The elevator doors ping open and I back out, laughing. Tyler walks toward me with a playful yet predatory glint in his eyes that makes me tingle all over. I walk backward until I hit my door, laughing, and he pins me.
“I warned you.”
“Technically, you didn’t,” I retort, flattening against the door like it’ll get me farther away from him.
“My bad.” He grins and grabs my sides.
His fingers dig into my sensitive spots and I scream a laugh. My knees buckle, my head throws back, and I grab his arms so I don’t drop to the floor. He tickles me intensely, my shrieking laugh mixing with his rich, deep one.
“Ty! Stop!” I beg through my laughter.
“Say I’m not cute,” he bargains.
“Never!”
“No stopping then.”
I somehow manage to dig my key from my pocket and shove it into the door. I push it open forcefully and fall through the open space. I regain my footing and dump my purse on the floor, still laughing, my sides aching and hurting from both my laughter and his tickling.
“Say it,” he demands, slamming the door shut and advancing toward me.
I shake my head, still walking, still backward.
“One last chance, Liv.”
“Or what?” I challenge. “What will you do if I don’t?”
He slaps his hands against the wall on either side of my head. “I’m not sure you want to find out.”
“Fantasies?” I look directly into those intoxicating, dark eyes.
“Plans,” he murmurs.
“I like plans,” I breathe.
“No, you don’t. You’re impulsive and indecisive and spur-of-the-moment.” He runs his nose up my neck. His breath coats my skin in a swath of heat that sends tingles through me. “It’s what I love about you. I love it when you don’t think.”
“Because when I do, I overthink to hell.”
“Precisely.” He smiles against my skin. “So stop thinking.”
“Even if I think you’re cute?”
“Especially that.” He laughs, his hands settling against my waist.
I expect them to slide down, to cup my ass and pull me toward him. They don’t. They flatten against the small of my back and linger there. The heat from his hold seeps through the material of my sweater.
