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I think she’s insane. But I can’t deny the warmth in her den of criminals. It’s everything I’ve craved for so much longer than I can put into words. And it’s really hard to believe the only element creating it is “female leadership.”
Briar continues, “It’s not all about gunfights and drug cartels.”
“It should never be about gunfights and drug cartels,” I mutter.
She giggles, infuriatingly. “Are you looking forward to our date?”
Pulling myself away, I scoot the chair back, stand, look down at her, and refuse to get stuck in the glimmer of her eyes. “I anticipate tolerating it as I would a hangnail.”
“Flirt.” Her perfect heart-shape mouth tips into a smile.
As soon as I realize that I’ve traded getting lost in her eyes for staring at her lips, I turn away, slip the spreadsheet off the table, and fold it up. “Why did you go through all the trouble of making a PowerPoint?”
“I’m trying to meet you in the middle. Thought you’d like it.”
Yet she titled it Do Pets Like Parks? with the intention of getting on my nerves.
“The posters in your meeting room are very nice. Corbin told me you made them yourself.”
I bristle. “When did he have a chance to tell you that?”
“I’ve stopped by more than once this past week. I just don’t always bother you.” She grins, oh so prettily. “You’ve very busy. I have to save up your precious time, so I can pull more elaborate stunts like this one.”
Pocketing the spreadsheet, I regard her dully. Every inch of her. Every, last, lace-clad… My eyes close, and I take a breath The picture of the little black off-shoulder dress she’s wearing today has burned into my retinas. There’s a birthmark beside her revealed bra strap, and I hate that I know that.
I hate that I will never forget it.
Fortifying myself, I plant my palms against the table on either side of her and open my eyes.
She’s so close. Pale skin. Dark hair. Blue, blue eyes.
Lemon and vanilla.
“I’m going to ask you a couple very simple questions,” I murmur. “Respond with one word answers only.”
Her breath stutters, and a touch of heat crawls up her neck.
“Okay?” I prompt.
Briar nods.
My eyes narrow.
“Okay,” she echoes.
“Are you trying to drive me mad?”
“Yes.”
“Will you make me regret agreeing to this?”
“This?”
“All of this. The façade. The park. Everything.”
Her lips part. “Probably.”
It’s hard not to respect her honesty. It’s harder to breathe when she’s so close and smells like cake. Dragging one hand up, letting my fingertips just barely graze her on their journey, I cup her cheek, watch her shudder, and lose every thought in my head. Stillness stretches—animal and foreign. My thumb traces the curve of her cheekbone.
