Page 53 of Snatched
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
“Colt…” she murmurs, warning and invitation tangled together.
“Yes?”
Both of us are leaning in, drawn across that forbidden line.
Her knee brushes mine under the table. She doesn’t pull away, and neither do I. Her eyes flick to my lips, and I’m done.
Absolutely done.
Then she laughs—quick, shaky, desperate—and pulls back an inch.
“Wow,” she says, exhaling hard. “We really shouldn’t do this.”
I nod, pretending I’m not wrecked. “Yeah. We definitely shouldn’t.”
“This is a mistake.”
“One hundred percent.”
We stare at each other.
Neither of us moves.
“Oh god,” she whispers. “We are so screwed.”
And she’s right.
We are.
We step out of The Darling into the cool night air, both of us a little unsteady from the emotional whiplash inside.
The city hums around us—taxis, muffled laughter, the wind threading through the trees lining the block.
Elena wraps her arms around herself.
I shouldn’t.
I absolutely shouldn’t.
But I do.
I reach for her waist, barely touching at first—just the ghost of contact—and then her body moves toward mine like it’s answering a question I didn’t ask out loud.
Her breath hitches.
“Colt…” she whispers.
I take one step forward.
Her back hits the brick wall with a soft thud and a soft gasp. I brace one hand beside her head, caging her in.
She looks up at me, eyes wide, pupils blown so dark they match the night.
I swear, I can feel her heartbeat from where I’m standing.
