“Don’t what?”
For a moment, he was silent. “You know.”
She waited a beat, then another. Then she lifted her hand off his shoulder. But, dammit, this was getting ridiculous. She couldn’t be in the same room with him without fighting her way through an electrical storm of attraction, all the more intense because he never let lightning strike. Which was a stupid metaphor, but that only proved how much he was messing with her mind.
And, dammit all, she was desperately turned on.
Time to take a stand.
She moved around his chair, then leaned against the desk so that she was facing him, the computer at her back, and Griffin right in front of her. That close, there was no way she could avoid seeing the massive scars, now illuminated by the glow of his computer screen.
“Beverly.” Her name was a growl, and he tilted his head down, putting his face in shadows.
“Dammit, Griff. There’s something between us. I felt it, and I know you did, too. So what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me?” His head jerked up, his voice filled with anger and derision. “Take a goddamn look.”
“I’ve been looking for months,” she retorted. “I don’t see a thing.”
“Do not patronize me.”
“You’re an idiot. You know that?”
He rolled his chair backwards. “We’re done for today.”
She grabbed the arms and pulled it back. “No, we’re not.” She closed her hand over his right one, the rough, destroyed flesh hard beneath her palm.
For a moment, their eyes met, then he looked away.
She took a breath for courage, then lifted her hand, moving it to his hoodie. Gently, she pushed it off his head.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice tight.
“Then stop me,” she said, cupping her palm over his scarred cheek. She met his eyes again, her heart pounding as she waited for him to do just that. And then, when he stayed motionless, she did what she had wanted to do for ages. She bent forward, closed her mouth over his, and kissed him.