Page 37 of Playing the Field

I don’t blame her.

Because I’m not.

I let the moment stretch, watching the way her fingers flex, the way she shifts her weight like she’s resisting the pull between us.

Finally, she turns on her heel, walking away without looking back.

I don’t stop her this time.

Because she’s coming to me tonight.

And when she does?

We’re finally going to stop pretending.

I watch her walk away, her shoulders squared like she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will. Like she’s convincing herself this is just another conversation, just another problem to solve.

But it’s not.

We both know it.

And as I stand there, hands clenched at my sides, jaw still tight from everything that just happened, I can already feel the night closing in on us.

Because when she walks into my penthouse tonight?

This thing between us—the one we’ve been pretending we can bury under rules and consequences and professional ethics?

It’s going to explode.

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders back, trying to shake the leftover tension in my body, but it’s useless.

I’m still wired from the fight. From the press conference. From her.

Always her.

I can still feel her fingers twisted in my shirt. Still taste her on my lips. Still hear the way her breath hitched right before she pulled away.

And now, all I can think about is how much more of her I want.

I run a hand over my jaw, dragging my fingers through my hair as I start toward the exit, knowing there’s no way I’m staying here another second.

I need a cold shower. A stiff drink. Anything to get my head on straight before I see her again.

But deep down, I already know the truth.

There’s no getting my head on straight when it comes to Anastasia Bellows.

Because the second she steps through my door tonight?

I’m going to want everything.

And this time?

I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from taking it.

I don’t pace. I don’t fidget.

I’ve built an entire life on control, on keeping my emotions locked down, on making sure that no one ever sees more of me than I want them to.