Page 44 of Elf-ish

I took my time again, plucking at her lower lip and teasing the upper one, eventually dipping my tongue to the corner of her mouth, as if claiming that freckle.

Angelica’s breath hitches, and then she bests me once again, nipping my lower lip. Not hard. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make an impression. Like everything else about her, she’s getting in my head and underneath my skin, and when I pull back, startled by the claiming bite, our gazes lock again.

Something new is in her eyes. Sweetness and joy, but a little bit of playful mischief, and it hits me hard in the chest—

I don’t deserve her.

Not like this.

I don’t want to pretend with her. Like she demanded last night—stop acting. Stop playing a part. Maybe I can do it in front of this crowd, in front of the board, but not with her. Not when it’s us.

Like breaking the surface of a frigid lake, sound rushes around me. The whoops and cheers of our audience brings our position back to me. We’re standing in the middle of a dance floor, encouraged to kiss by a weak collection of leaves and a co-worker.

If I ever even entertained there being an Angelica and me, I’ve blown my chance by asking her to participate in this farce.

Deciding our appearance has been noted long enough, I nod at the faceless crowd around us, slip my arm around Angelica, and lead her wordlessly into the hallway, guiding us back to our room.

I’m done pretending for one night.

chapter 15

[Angelica]

If I thought Jude was going to ravish me after his possessive behavior earlier in the pool and then again throughout the evening’s party, I get a cold dose of reality when we enter our room.

He doesn’t touch me.

The switch in him is almost mercurial.

With full-on anxiety, I ask him to unzip my dress. Earlier, I had to call the front desk to send someone to help me zip it up, which is the real reason I was late. I didn’t want to call Jude and ask him to come back to the room. I was afraid if he did, I might pounce on him.

Him and his damn suggestion that I’d need my phone near the shower again.

He hadn’t been wrong, though, and another moment of self-pleasure took the edge off. Twice in less than twelve hours was like a Christmas miracle.

With my back to Jude, I sense his hesitation. The warmth of his breath against my neck as I hold up my hair. The long exhale from his chest. Then thick fingers brush along the expanse of skin exposed above the zipper on the wide-necked dress before he grips the top of the dress with pinched fingers and uses his other hand to lower the zipper.

The lazy drag down my back is like the gentle pull of stage curtains. A slow revelation of pale skin. But if I thought Jude would dance his fingers down my spine, he doesn’t. There is no encore to our earlier actions where the dance floor kiss was almost as powerful as the hot tub one.

For a second, I simply stand still, holding up my hair with one hand while clutching the front of my dress with the other, anticipation nearly killing me.

When I turn to face Jude, holding the dress to my chest, I silently beg him to make a move, knowing I can’t. I want Jude to be into this as much as me.

For just a moment, those icy eyes are cold. His smile is tight, like he’s slipped into character again. I have no doubt a man like Jude can have sex without emotion in the act.

Unfortunately, I cannot, so I drop my gaze.

Almost instantly, Jude’s eyes shift. The ice melts away a little bit until he almost looks . . . stricken. Like the last thing he wants to see is me naked, despite flirtatious words and seductive actions.

Reality strikes like the cold rush of falling between cracks in ice. He only kissed me for show. In front of a board member. In the middle of his party.

Embarrassment mixed with a pinch of shame fills me, and my tongue ties when I try to speak.

“I’ll just be—”

“It’s not that I—” he cuts me off.

“We don’t have to—”