Page 52 of Ruled By Rivalry

“I’m just looking at you,” he doubled down. “The rest is out of my control.”

My head fell back with a groan. Every single word coming out of his mouth made this ordeal worse. “Why?!”

He finally took that step back, let his hands slip into the pockets of his pants. Unfortunately, instead of the relief I’d expected, panic seized my body. My heart rate picked up, my breathing fastened, and a bolt of electricity shot from the tip of my toes to the top of my head in recognition.

Screaming, quite candidly, Don’t go.

Elliot sighed, eyes batting open to connect with mine. Even in the red light, I recognized the vulnerability flash across his features. The way he timidly shrugged confirmed it. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me or why. All I know is that it’s all I’m thinking about.”

He was talking about kissing me, having me. I was in the same predicament. When was the last time I’d looked at him and thought, rival, enemy first? Not cute, handsome, kiss me.

That was it. Kiss me.

Finally, his fingers brushed my skin, tucking my hair behind one ear. Something exploded. My patience, restraint, logic, maybe.

“Remember when I told you not to be honest with me?” Just two nights ago, in the light of our fridge. Back when I’d been far more convinced that what was about to happen was a bad idea.

“Of course I remember,” he said. “I think about what would’ve happened if I’d been honest with you every single night.”

It had only been two since, but the fact seemed to pain him deeply. Like those nights were torturous enough in themselves. Like he might not survive another one.

And all I wanted was to take Elliot Ashwood out of his misery.

“Okay, well.” Fuck it. “I need you to be honest with me right now.”

Something lit up behind his eyes. He straightened, and his next breath sounded relieved, above all else. Almost as relieved as I felt when he finally confirmed what I’d known all along.

Whatever distance he’d previously brought between us disappeared. One long stride, and he stood right in front of me again. “Kiss me, Maeve.”

Not kissing him would mean I was scared. Of the consequences. Of what it might do to me and my ability to work with him. Not kissing him meant there was more to it than simply his lips on mine, and there wasn’t.

A cute guy kissing a cute girl after weeks of forced proximity felt inevitable. Get it over with, realize it’s just like any other kiss, and move on. That was the plan when I finally overcame the last few inches between us.

My arms wrapped around his neck, and a second later, his hands held my face. The last thing I noticed was the way his breath hitched against my lips before all I could focus on was the feel of him. Of his hand twitching against my cheek, his body pressing me against the door, and his lips on mine.

Soft. Full. Warm.

Everything I’d dreamt up that night and more.

He was right when he muttered “I knew it” into my mouth.

I had wanted this. Now, limbs entangled and tasting him on my tongue, I realized just how much. I don’t think I’d ever been on that list of women he just worked with. I think I’d always wanted him, just a little bit.

Ever since I’d spilled my coffee on him.

That he’d known the whole time bothered me a lot less when his tongue met mine in a single delicious swipe, and his hand, holding my face, fell to my waist. Squeezed. A sound of approval left his lips at the way I arched against him.

For a second, he pulled back, looked at me like he couldn’t quite believe he was here, with me. “Do you want me to stop?”

Logically, this was where I should tell him, Yes. Stop. Until here and no further. Because I was at that point where I’d usually realize how mediocre this whole thing was. Too much tongue, sloppy pace, weird sounds.

But that wasn’t the case.

I didn’t want him to stop. Preferably, ever.

I whined at the possibility even when I knew he wasn’t serious. “Wait. Is that a yes?” He added, “I’ll need to hear you say it, Maeve. Just to be sure.”

Asshole.