Page 30 of Worth the Try
I tilt my head. “Alone in what, exactly?”
He doesn’t answer.
After a beat, he gestures toward the couch behind him. “Nightcap?”
I shouldn’t. Without question. It’s a terrible idea. “Sure.”
Chapter 11
Elodie
HE DOESN’T ASK what I want. Instead, he waves his hand at the couch in a clear command to sit and picks up the bottle and rocks glass on the table a few feet away. He pours two fingers, then plucks three ice cubes from a small cooler that sits next to it.
Was hewaitingon me?
The thought is dizzying. When was the last time anyone did that for me? The realization is another gut punch: never.
I study him, his form casting long shadows as he tops his own drink off before turning to close the distance. I expect him to sit on the couch opposite me, but he doesn’t. He lowers his massive form to the one I’m on, not even a cushion away.
I reach for the glass as he’s handing it to me, and our fingers brush against each other when he releases it into my grasp.
It’s the lightest of touches, but my body wakes up, electricity coursing through me. I literally felt a zing when we touched. That’s…that’s not real. I imagined it.
Idefinitelyimagined it.
Shaking it off, I lift the glass in thanks and bring it to my lips. It doesn’t smell like anything I’ve ever had before, a little sweet but still leaning toward whiskey.
Ansel’s gaze never leaves my face, even as he brings his own glass to his lips for a drink.
I take the smallest sip, then another. It’s delicious. Almost sweet.
His lips quirk at my expression. “It’s a liqueur made from Irish whiskey.”
I grin. “One of the Irish rugby players introduce you to it?”
He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” He takes another sip, then places his glass on the side table. “How was your night?”
It occurs to me that this is the first time we’ve been alone together—reallyalone—and the realization sends a burst of heat through my body. Or maybe it’s the drink. “Good,” I answer. I lick my lips nervously, and he tracks it before snapping his gaze back to mine. With a deep breath, I ask, “What did you mean before?”
“By what?”
“When you said you weren’t alone in this.” I want him to tell me he feels this, too. This pull. This desperate, undeniable need to touch me, to feel my lips on his, the same way that I feel it.
His eyes darken behind his glasses, then shift away. His chest expands and contracts as he breathes, and I shouldn’t watch him this closely, but I can’t make myself stop. Eventually, he grabs his drink and looks back at me. “It doesn’t matter.”
I wait to see if he’ll elaborate. When he doesn’t, I set my liqueur down and fold my hands in my lap. Still nothing. But his eyes…they stay on me this time. Studying. Memorizing. Unlocking something inside me.
It feels cellular, whatever it is this man’s attention is doing. As if here, in the dark of the night, when the rest of the world sleeps, I’m waking up. My heart kicks around, a Mustang free on the plains.
Eventually, I find my words. “Do you know what everyone says about me?”
Twin lines appear on either side of his mouth as he frowns. “No.”
“That I’m nice.”
He furrows his brow, easily catching the disdain lacing the wordnice.“And that’s…a bad thing?”
Instead of answering, I take another step into the unknown. “Do you know what I realized tonight?”
