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And we never touched.
WHEN WE PULL up to Payton’s building, our clothes back in position, and a handful of tissues destroyed after I tried to clean up my mess, I climb out after her.
“You can stay there,” she says, waving at my pants.
Fuck that.
“Payton, I’m walking you to your door. Do not argue,” I growl.
She frowns at me. “You’re bossy.”
“Correct.” I glance at the driver. “Five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
At the elevator, she tries again.
“Get in.”
With a sigh, she does and presses the button to her floor. Fifteen.
Mine is thirty-nine.
Without being fully aware, I move my body so she’s an inch or so in front of me, clenching my fists so I don’t pull her against me.
I thought the desire to touch her would’ve lessened or gone altogether, but all I want to do is get to her apartment, kick the damn door down and go for round two.
“Knox, I—” She turns and immediately has to lift her face to mine.
My hand lifts and I’m inches from cupping her face. “Fuck.” I move away.
“You should’ve stayed in the limo,” Payton says, and she sounds annoyed.
“I’m a gentleman,” I say grouchily, because why is she giving me shit for walking her to her door?
She lets out a snort. “Okay, yeah, that’s not what gentlemen do, but let’s go with that.”
And that’s how I ended up pressing her against the wall of the elevator and gripping her face. Panting heavily, we both freeze, our lips inches from one another.
The door pings open.
“Oh, sorry. I can take another car,” someone says.
Neither of us looks up.
“Don’t kiss me,” she says.
“I’m not going to,” I rasp. The door closes and we’re moving again. “I can’t kiss you.”
“No,” Payton breathes.
The door pings open and there’s no one there.
“This is my floor,” she says almost silently.
I step away.
Reluctantly.
