Page 54 of Ruled By Rivalry

Another stab. This time, I couldn’t fully focus on it, though. Elliot’s hand had dropped to my bare thigh, and it took everything in me not to react to the scowl on his face and his touch pressing into my skin.

“What about sand?” he asked from beside me. Sounding as unbothered by our touching as I wished I was.

“Sand?”

At least we weren’t discussing my failures anymore. “You don’t like the design, fine. Next idea. There’s naturally pink sand on beaches all over the world. If we could import—”

“You want to fly in sand?” Oliver’s brows rose, almost mockingly.

Defensively, Elliot said, “Maybe.”

Then his hand disappeared below my skirt. I straightened, gasped, and then coughed until the involuntary sound was wiped from both their memories. Judging by the smirk Elliot was suppressing now, it hadn’t worked.

Thinking What the fuck are you doing? at him as hard as I could wasn’t helping. Telling myself Don’t let him do this wasn’t either.

Those five minutes in the elevator had been playing on a loop in my head all day. Eight hours later, it felt like I could still taste him on my tongue and feel him against my lips. Multiple times, I’d had to overcome the urge to march down to his office to see him.

And now he was here, almost touching me where I’d wanted him just a few nights ago. Distracting me from a failure so grand, so embarrassing, it was impossible to resist. So, I let him.

No reaction from Elliot as his hand drove higher up my thigh, rubbing circles on my bare skin.

“Whatever happened to sustainability, Elliot?” Oliver laughed, which meant Camila must’ve told him about the ambassador debacle, and he wasn’t a fan of it either. “Can’t just fly some sand back and forth without leaving an ecological footprint the size of a small country.”

Instead of throwing a rash comment at Oliver that surely was on the tip of his tongue already, Elliot’s fingers dug into my skin. The rough touch was so unexpected, scandalous, and nice, I didn’t manage to hide my gasp this time.

Immediately, the look on his face dissolved into something else. Amusement, pride, hunger. Like I was his personal stress ball, and he’d just successfully used it—me—to avert another crisis.

“Maeve, you alright?” Oliver’s voice pulled me back to reality, color shooting into my cheeks and neck and ears. I was glowing bright red, judging by how hot I suddenly felt. And not just because Elliot’s hand stayed below my skirt.

Safe to say I wasn’t thinking about my dress anymore.

“Sorry, yes,” I stammered. “Just . . . a cramp.”

“Anyway.” Oliver continued. And I meant to listen. Really.

But it was so hard when everything in me was just focused on Elliot. His teasing touch brushing along the lace of my panties but never moving them for more access. How big his hands felt between my legs. How I was so close to squirming in my seat, it took physical restraint to keep myself in check.

My knuckles were white around the armrest.

I didn’t expect it to feel this different. That someone else’s touch could feel so good. That someone I didn’t know that well could read my body so perfectly.

My eyes threatened to flutter shut, and only the bored cadence of Oliver’s tone reminded me that I needed to see this through before I got fired for public indecency and lewd conduct.

Maybe that had been Elliot’s plan all along. Camila did say he’d do anything to win.

“Not bad, overall,” Oliver finally concluded, sliding my sketchbook back across the table as he got up. “I’ll give you a few more minutes to wrap things up here.”

I startled so hard Elliot’s hand fell away. “Wrap things up?”

He couldn’t mean—

“Yeah.” Oliver gestured to our notes, sketches, and mood boards sprawled across the table. “If you think anything I said was worth your while . . .”

“Of course!” I shouldn’t have jumped out of my chair, and the way Elliot calmly followed my lead only underlined how nervous I was acting.

“. . . You should probably put some notes in the margins, then. Before you forget.” Oliver’s brows furrowed, like he knew something was off, too, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Thank God for that, or he’d know where Elliot’s fingers had just been.