Page 62 of Instigator

Jamie clears our plates, but Aidan doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. I’m not either. I don’t want this night to end.

But does it have to end here?

“Hey, Wish?”

His blue eyes crinkle at his nickname. “Yeah, Annie?”

“Take me home.”

He stares at me for a bit.

“It’s like you said. If we’re not compatible, we should find out sooner rather than later. I don’t want to wait. I don’t need you to hold off on calling me for three days, and I don’t need to wait for an arbitrary number of dates.”

If he doesn’t like a forward woman, it’s best to find out now. Before I get invested. Before it hurts.

I am Cecilia fucking Ramos. I go after what I want. I get what I want.

And what I want is him.

“Take me home.”

twenty-six

. . .

Aidan

Where do I start with this woman?

The cold weather seeps into my bones, freezing me from head to toe, but when I look at Ceci, I’m warmed through. Her hand is in mine as I lead her to my car and help her in. With her short, tight skirt, she maneuvers onto the seat sidesaddle, but before I can close the door for her, she catches my hand and laces our fingers together.

I stare down at them, linked as we are, and a pulse of affection surges through me.

Before I know what’s happening, she uses her other hand to fist the lapel of my coat and tug me closer. I step between her spread knees, doing my best not to look down at where her dress has ridden up.

My thumb roves over the back of her hand. The heat of her skin permeates our gloves, burning into me like a brand. All I hear is the rush of my blood, the steady, traitorous pound of my heart.

Snow dusts the edge of the windshield. Our breaths fog between us, little clouds that disappear too fast. The dome light casts her in this soft gold glow, like the rest of the world has gone dark, and it’s only the two of us in this quiet pocket of winter.

Her gaze drops to my mouth.

I swear it does.

And that’s it. That’s the unraveling.

I’ve kissed women before. I know how this works. Lean in. Tilt my head. Close the distance. Simple. Controlled.

This isn’t controlled.

I lean in, but I don’t kiss her. Not yet. I hover there, our noses brushing, the air between us charged and thin. I want to memorize this—the way her lashes flutter, the way her berry-red lips part on a soft inhale. The way she’s looking at me like she’s daring me to be brave.

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, my mouth barely a breath from hers.

She shakes her head.

That’s all it takes.

I close the distance slowly, giving her every second to change her mind. My lips brush hers—soft, testing, almost careful. The contact is featherlight at first, a mere question.