Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)

Polly’s mouth became so parched, she couldn’t swallow. With shaking fingers, she reached for the tea bag and dunked it into the lukewarm water. She cast a glance around the half-empty diner, positive everyone could see residual lust coming off her body like steam. Until now, she’d hidden inside the excuse that shunning the physical attraction between her and Austin was necessary so he wouldn’t win. She’d prided herself on being able to resist him when he was accustomed to getting everything he wanted so easily, with a few practiced lines and a smile. Apparently she’d been lying to herself, because even with his incredible looks neatly disguised, she’d been scored by fire the moment he touched her.

There had been a moment that morning while piecing the previous night’s events together where she’d placed the blame for her enthusiastic participation in their dance-floor make-out session on the sedative. But as her head cleared beneath the shower spray, she’d felt it. Desire climbing up her thighs and setting up shop in her stomach, tickling out like a fistful of feathers. Even now, recalling the way he’d planted his hands above her and let her look, biceps flexing against the backdrop of the writhing dance floor. The way he’d groaned at her exploring touch. His…his stiff, protruding erection.

Yeah. Austin might have been playing a part—for what reason, she intended to find out—but there’d been no pretense on either of their parts during the kissing.

You want to order me around?

Polly took a long sip of cold tea, a paltry attempt to cool herself down. That question, posed with such gruff desperation, haunted her. Made her insides vibrate like a tuning fork. What would it be like to wield control over a man like Austin? She’d never attempted to impose her will in bed, except for a few rare occasions when she’d dipped her toe in and been greeted with laughter. There was no shaking the bone-deep intuition that Austin would respond the way she’d once fantasized about a man doing, but had never experienced. The way his eyes had slid closed when she shoved the T-shirt into his mouth…the memory had Polly crossing her legs together and swallowing a groan.

What. A bastard. For taking a chunk out of her pride. For making her want him even more. For knowing exactly the buttons to push. How? How had he known what would make him infinitely more irresistible to her?

She meant to give Austin straight-up hell as soon as she shook the heavy cloak of humiliation. Other than the shame living in her gut just knowing that he’d bested her, the only thing keeping her from tracking Austin down right this moment—before the sun had even completely risen—was the fact that she’d been fully clothed upon waking. If he’d removed so much as one high heel, it would be lodged in the side of his neck by now.

That satisfying image popped like a bubble when Erin fell into the booth across the table, lifted her hands like she’d just won an Olympic race, and shouted, “Pancakes!”

“Good morning to you, too.” Polly lifted her mug of tea for another sip, but grimaced and set it back down. “You know, they hate us in here. Between you setting napkins on fire and me having a staring contest with the wall, we’re bound to be voted off the Denny’s island sooner or later.”

“Listen to me very carefully.” Erin leaned forward. “Is the wall talking back yet? I can coach you through this.”

Polly considered saying yes, just so Erin could distract her with imaginary wall communication instructions, but she shook her head. “So far, it’s giving me the silent treatment.”

“Consider yourself lucky.”

The waitress approached the table and refilled Polly’s tea mug with steaming water. Polly gave a grateful nod and refocused on Erin, who was silently mouthing pancakes at the server. “What are you doing out of bed this early?”

Erin shrugged. “I heard you leaving and wanted a short stack. Slipped out without waking up Connor.” Grinning, she rubbed her hands together. “He’s going to hate that.”

Polly lifted an eyebrow. “And that makes you gleeful?”

“No, I just like the reminder that I’ve still got it.”

“I don’t think your ability to escape undetected was ever in question,” Polly said, wishing she had another tea bag. Just another reason to want to punch Austin in the nut sack at the first opportunity. “Although I’m sure Connor wishes you were slightly less adept at sneaking out.”

“He understands. Most of the time.” The blonde’s forehead wrinkled. “Plus, when I give him the slip, he knows I’ll let him tie me up later to make up for it.”

“You know, that was far more information than I needed.”

Erin craned her neck to look at the kitchen, obviously searching for her pancakes. “You probably already hacked into his bank account and saw the multiple trips to Home Depot.” She produced a lighter from her pocket and flicked on the flame. “J’accuse.”

“Are we speaking French now?” Polly hid her laugh with a cough. “I suppose anything is better than Russian.”

The waitress set a plate full of pancakes in front of Erin, eyeballing the still-lit lighter as she did so. “Anything else?”

“Yes, please. A Lumberjack Slam to go. For my man.” Erin looked smug as she reached for the syrup. “Coincidentally, ‘lumberjack slam’ is the name of what he’s got planned for later, so don’t come a’ knockin’.”

“I’ll do my best to resist.”

They sat in silence while Erin took her first few bites of pancakes, until the blonde finally spoke, gesturing toward Polly with her syrupy fork. “You’re still wearing your fake eyelashes from last night.”