I chuckle so loudly a woman in designer heels passing by almost loses her balance.
Cole: Has anyone ever called you high-maintenance, Miss Angelo?
Eliza: Not really.
Cole: Not really—that’s a yes, right?
Eliza: Nope. That’s me informing you that I don’t normally deal with cavemen.
Cole: Are you calling me a goddamned Neanderthal? That’s no way to talk to your boss.
Eliza: My bad, Lump. Try not to dwell on it all day.
Damn her to hell.
It’s like she knows how much mental space she already occupies, and how helpless I am to evict her.
I dwell, all right. I think about Eliza’s mouth and other parts of her through the rest of this glorified ego trip disguised as a business conference.
Especially every last primal act of savagery I’d like to do to her.
It’s after seven o’clock, and I find Eliza in the lab alone.
“You’ve got three hours before the lab closes to all staff. New policy.”
“Don’t remind me.” She looks up from a spread of familiar Wired Cup pastries, plus a few new ones I don’t recognize. “You just got back?”
“I’ve been back for an hour, but I had some cleanup to do before I came to talk,” I say.
“So should I clean out my desk?”
“Why would you?” I tilt my head, unsure what the hell she’s getting at.
“Like I said, when people want to 'talk' it’s always bad news...”
“You have a strange sense of humor, Miss Angelo.” I eye her spread, desperate to keep my gaze off her body. “Also, I believe your sweet tooth could put a saber tooth tiger to shame.”
“I’m just going over flavor profiles, using existing food products to see how well the drinks are holding up as complements. I’ve introduced a few new ones as well.” She picks up a golden cookie with a chocolate bar on top. “Destiny and I made this to go with the S’mores Mocha not too long ago. I just needed to tweak it before I had you taste it.”
“Did I not warn you that you’re not on the food team?” My jaw tightens.
Mischief gleams in her honey-brown eyes.
“Oops. You tell me a lot of things. It’s hard to keep up. Sometimes I really only listen when it makes sense. Here, try less death-glaring and more eating.” She shoves the pastry at my mouth and damn near pushes it in.
I angrily bite off a chunk of her cookie, catching her fingers between my lips in the process.
Fuck.
She falls back a step, her eyes closed, a startled sigh slipping out of her before she moves away. For a hot second, I wish this was more than a botched taste test in my company lab.
I see her in my bed, under me, staring up at me with bright-eyed expectation.
This time, I’m the one pushing my thumb into her mouth. She takes it real sweetly, sucking it nice and slow, a prelude to the way I’ll tame her mouth with something far bigger than a finger.
Goddamn.
I swallow the fantasy like a cactus stuck in my throat.
“I’m not fond of too much sugar...but it’s good,” I say. Not nearly as delectable as the sick thoughts ravaging my head, but it’s definitely quality. “I’m glad you found a way to work my graham cracker in.”
Her lips quirk up in a smile a thousand times more inviting than her cookie.
Then she leans in, slowly and cautiously—like she wants me to slam her against the nearest wall and show her what a real taste test would be like.
Goddammit, woman. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into...
I take a deep, halting breath.
Don’t do anything stupid, Cole.
When she tumbles toward me a second later, I almost think it’s my own searing thoughts that pull her off-balance.
There’s only a split second.
It’s catch her or let her hit the floor—and the second option would be unbelievably cruel.
I lunge forward, diving for Eliza. Her weight falls into my arms and I hold her in this odd tilted position.
I’m right the fuck over her now.
Our mouths, maybe an inch apart at best.
Her lips flutter open in shock.
Is it just shock?
Her gaze is fixed on my lips.
Eliza damn Angelo is breathing so hard it stalls my heart.
She recovers quickly, though, clasping my arms for strength, balance, whatever. Her tiny nails have a charge, soft static electricity against my skin.
I’m tingling?
Bullshit. I never tingle at a woman’s touch.
Only, for the second time tonight, I wish this was happening anywhere besides this stuffy lab.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
She doesn’t say anything, just nods, her silky hair still splashed against my hand. It doesn’t take much to bait my wicked brain.
One flick of my hand and I could have it coiled tight around my fingers, fisted, pulled.
Before I do something monumentally stupid, I push us both up so she’s on her feet and we’re both standing.
Her eyes are wide and glistening. She stares at me in stunned silence.