Page 85 of The Wild Card

“Geez, you make it sound so romantic.”

“Emmie.”

“I’m just saying.” I shrug, going for casual, like my heart isn’t pounding out of my chest. “You’re hot, I’m not blind, and we already have to sell this thing to your boss. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”

Something shifts in his expression. Hunger, barely leashed.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Probably.”

“It’ll complicate things.”

“Only if we let it.” I hold his gaze. “We’re both adults. We can keep it casual. Friends with fake benefits.”

His hand comes up, hovering near my face, like he’s fighting with himself.

I lean into it.

His palm cups my cheek, warm and steady, and I watch the last of his resistance crumble.

“Just physical,” he says. “Nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” I agree.

It’s a lie, probably. Somewhere deep down, I think we both know it.

But right now, with his hand on my face and his mouth inches from mine, I can’t bring myself to care.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, low and rough. “Not for practice. Not because someone’s watching. Just because I want to.”

“Okay,” I murmur, my voice soft and filled with need.

Chapter Nineteen

Uncharted

Crew

“Just physical,” I say. “Nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” she agrees.

And then I’m kissing her again because I can, because she said I could, because if I don’t kiss her right now, I might actually lose my mind.

She tastes like mezcal and lime and something sweet underneath. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I go willingly. Eagerly. My brain—usually so loud, so insistent on cataloging every variable and potential outcome—has gone blissfully, terrifyingly quiet.

There’s only this. Only her.

I walk her backward until she hits the kitchen counter, and she makes a small sound against my mouth that does something dangerous to my self-control. My hands find her hips, gripping tight, and she arches into me.

“Couch,” I manage against her lips.

Her eyes darken. “Yes.”

I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carry her through the apartment without breaking the kiss. It’s clumsy and graceless, and I bump her shoulder against the doorframe, muttering an apology against her mouth, but she just laughs and holds on tighter.

I sit down on the couch with her in my lap, straddling me, and the new position puts her above me, looking down at me. In control.