I offer him a condescending slow clap. “Way to go, Sherlock. You figured it out. I didn’t have a date. Nope, I just couldn’t stand to be in your presence for longer than five minutes, so I lied. Do you feel good about yourself now?”
His brows furrow and the fire in his gaze blazes just a little hotter. “He only told me because he knew I’ve been trying to reach you the last few days.”
“Oh, so you and my brother are confidantes now? Well why don’t you do me a favor and tell him to fuck off, and then you can pass the message along to yourself as well.”
He has the audacity to smile then. If I were still holding my heels, I’d fling one at his stupid, magnificent head.
“That’s it. Mouse, attack!”
Mouse licks his butt.
It was worth a try.
Adam pushes to stand and stalks toward me. I back up. For every step he takes, I take two, but still, his strides somehow eat up the distance between us. I hold my hands out to keep him at arm’s length and his muscled chest hits my palms. It feels like I’m trying to hold back a tidal wave.
“I misspoke the other night,” he says, wrapping his hands around mine and keeping them pinned against his chest. I was fending him off, but now it seems like the exact opposite.
“Oh?”
“Obviously, I’m interested.”
I reply with a very unladylike snort. “Obviously? You could have fooled me.”
“C’mon Madeleine, I’m very interested,” he repeats, his steady gaze holding mine. “But I was trying to do the right thing. I just got out of an engagement. I moved across the country. I’m a mess.” I nearly laugh—his life is infinitely less messy than mine. “You aren’t someone I want to fuck around with.”
“So you’re saying I’m not fuckable?” I tease.
“Madeleine.”
His hands tighten over mine as he tugs me closer. This proximity is starting to be a problem. The tension between us is growing, and I’m scared we’re about to have a repeat of the YMCA make-out session—except now we’re alone in my apartment and my couch is just a few steps behind him. Worse, my bed is even closer.
I need to extinguish the fire between us stat.
“I’m kidding! Adam, listen, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I heard you loud and clear the other night, and I’ve moved on. That kiss was nothing—pfft, less than nothing.”
I think I’m doing a good job of diminishing my feelings, right up until his eyes flare. Oh no. I think I’ve just swung a red flag in front of an angry bull.
“Nothing?” he asks, sidling even closer. “Less than nothing? Huh.”
My eyes have to be as round as saucers. I’m scared of what he’s capable of…or maybe I’m curious.
“Adam, c’mon. You said you wanted to do the right thing, remember? Go home—that’s the right thing.”
He smirks and steps closer. We’re hip to hip when he bends down and brushes his lips against my ear. “You haven’t been listening.”
I shiver and then insist, “I have.”
“I don’t want to do the right thing anymore.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself to wake up from this bizarre dream. Adam’s hand releases my wrist and he skims the back of his finger up my forearm and bicep until he hits the thin red strap of my dress. It’s loose and easy to tug down my shoulder. The front of my dress falls with it and the swell of my breast is hit with cold air-conditioning.
“I really, really don’t want to do the right thing anymore,” he says just before his lips hit my collarbone.
My head falls back until it hits the wall, and my fingers sink into his hair just like they did last week. We already have old habits. His lips on my skin feel familiar, right. He peels down another inch of my dress, and I’m too nervous to open my eyes. I know how much he can see. I can feel his mouth on my breast. I should have worn a bra. Two bras.
“Hold on to me, Madeleine.”
My eyes jerk open. “Hold on to you?!”
Before I get a reply, Adam picks me up off the ground and forces me to wrap my legs around his hips. He pushes me up against my apartment wall and crashes his mouth to mine. Holy shit. We’ve gone from zero to 60 in seconds. We’re making out like savages. The popcorn texture on the wall is scraping my back, maybe leaving marks, who knows—I don’t feel a thing. Adam is a painkiller.
His hand is in my hair, and then it’s sliding down and tugging on the other strap of my dress until the fabric is pooled at my waist. With my skirt shoved high on my thighs and my top peeled away, I’m nearly naked and blushing scarlet from my navel to my chin.
“We should slow down,” I sputter just before his mouth falls to my chest.
He swirls his tongue around my nipple and my eyes pinch closed.
Or, y’know, speed up even more.
I’ve never been taken like this before. This apartment and these walls have seen purely PG action over the years. All sexual activities were relegated to the bedroom—lights off, music on, blankets covering body parts.
At this moment, Adam has me pinned against the wall. My legs are coiled around him like a snake and he’s in charge. I’m helpless. I don’t even think my fingers have feeling anymore. I can only focus on his mouth. On my breast. The cool air he blows before covering the sensitive skin with his lips. Sucking and tasting and doing his best to draw out every ounce of resistance.
But it’s not enough.
I can’t do this.
Nothing good will come from having sex with Adam.
Well, I can think of one good thing—but no, I can’t.
“Adam…we have to stop.”
He pulls back and his damp hair is tousled, courtesy of my fingers. It’s adorable, and I nearly cave.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
With his brows tugged together and a concerned frown playing on his lips, I want nothing more than to lean forward and continue right where we left off. Instead, I hold my ground.
“We aren’t dating. This is a bad idea.”
It becomes clear then how funny it is to be having this conversation while we’re poised in this position. I can feel how hard Adam is between my legs. My chest is still completely exposed to him. His hand is, yup, still on my boob.
I reach down for the straps of my dress and tug it back up as best as I can.
He lets me down gently, no groan or protest. My knees nearly buckle, but he keeps hold of me until I have my footing. It’s a sweet gesture, and it makes the next few minutes all the more painful.
We’re silent as he gathers his stuff and heads for the door, but it’s not an angry, tense silence. There’s a resolved, solemn feeling in the air, like maybe we both agree that this is for the best.
I trail after him, holding the door open as he steps through. He turns back and catches my eye. I smile. He smiles, and then he steps closer, dropping his forehead to mine. My eyes flutter closed and for a few seconds, there’s nothing to hear but the sound of our breaths coming in unison.
The unspoken words fill the gap between our bodies.
“Good night Madeleine.”
He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand, and then he’s gone. I close the door and sink down to the floor. His car revs up in the parking lot, and I stare at the wall where he just had me pinned. There might as well be a white chalk outline etched there. After all, it’s a crime scene. Theft in the first degree.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MADELEINE