Page 63 of How to Kill Your Rival

When I meet James’ eyes, I expect triumph, but it’s not what I see. It’s deeper and far more dangerous. It’s not the win. It’s more vulnerable. More heady.

Fuck.

What have I done?

I’m furious, and I’m territorial, and there is a heat in my gut that’s torn through me since Vivienne put her hand on his face. The worst part, the truly unforgivable part, is that I am surrounded by people who can’t know, and there’s just this burning between us.

I claimed him as mine. In front of him.

And worst of all, I meant it.

‘Don’t,’ I say.

‘I haven’t⁠—’

‘Whatever it is. Don’t.’

‘You just told a woman you’ve known for six minutes that I’m yours. A friend of my mother’s.’

‘Do you want me to change my mind?’

‘Eliza,’ he says.

‘Do you?’

‘No. I enjoyed hearing it very much. I’ve been waiting to hear you say something like that for fucking years, Eliza. I want to make you say it again.’

The heat in the room suddenly feels like it’s pressing inward around me. Crushing me. The din of the guests and the music makes my head ache as James stares at me, the reality of my admission setting in. My feral moment may have passed, but it’s left me with a whole new problem. I’ve crossed into uncharted territory with James, letting myself be vulnerable again. After last time.

Damn the champagne.

Damn Vivienne and her stunning legs.

Damn James fucking Rutherford and his pretty bloody face.

And the way he’s looking at me with those glittering eyes, and his full lower lip with the scar, and that open eagerness on his face that I usually shut down, well, it unsettles me. Now that I’ve claimed him, I can’t smoosh all those feelings and looks I’ve been ignoring back into the torn box. We were going to have to face it.

Fuck-nuggets.

The box is well and truly open.

‘Say it again,’ James says in a low, husky voice. Not a game this time. It’s a demand.

‘No,’ I tease.

‘Eliza—’

I grab his tie.

* * *

The library off the east corridor is small and dark, more of a book snug than the full library across the house, and James has me against the book-filled shelves the second I pull him through the entrance. He grips my jaw in one hand and kisses me so hard, I wince. It is a kiss of two people who have been denying themselves for far too long. A violent kiss of finally allowing ourselves to give in. A clash of heated lips and tongue that steals my breath and leaves me gasping in his arms.

He moans as I push both of my hands into his hair and tug him more firmly to me. The floodgates are open, and no matter how much of him I have, I need more. I’m insatiable for him. When he whimpers, it does catastrophic things between my thighs.

Down the hall, the band plays on, the noise of the party still so close. I haven’t shut the door; our need is too great and I don’t want to pause long enough to have second thoughts. We could get caught so easily. God, I almost crave it. In my hedonistic high, I want to tell everyone that James is mine.

His rough hands know where I need them. They find their way beneath my dress, past the scrap of underwear I have on, and deep inside me. James smirks when I moan, his eyes darkening at the way I arch my hips to demand more. Books move behind me, the shelf digging into my skin and making it feel all the filthier.