Page 53 of For the Plot

Her head tilts, lips parting just slightly. “That’s the second time you’ve said something like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re fighting yourself.”

I don’t answer. I just hold her gaze. Let her see it. The truth I can’t say out loud. Another beat passes. Her gaze softens, butit’s sharp underneath—like she’s circling something she already knows is hers.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks.

“No.”

She steps closer. Her pace measured. She’s so close now I could tilt my head and taste the curve of her shoulder.

“But you don’t want to want me either,” she adds, her voice almost playful. Almost cruel.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Her smile curves, smug and daring.

I should turn around. Let this moment pass. Pretend it didn’t happen.

She takes another step, toes nearly touching mine. Her voice is soft, but the challenge in it cuts like a blade. “You keep making these loaded comments. These subtle threats. Acting like you’re right on the edge.”

I don’t move. But I feel it—all of it.

“I think we both know,” she whispers, “you’re never actually going to do anything about it.”

I should walk away. I should leave her standing here with her wineglass and that smug little grin. But I don’t. I reach for her. My hand finds her waist. Bare skin. Smooth. Warm. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t stop me. I slide my hand around her gently until I’ve got my palm flat against her lower back and my fingers curled just under the dip of her hip.

I pull her against me, her body flush against mine, and she gasps when she feels it—how hard I am. How badly I want her.

Her lashes flutter. “Reece…”

“You think I won’t act on it?” I reply. “Sweetheart, you have no idea what I’d do if I stopped fighting it.”

The smile fades from her mouth. Her lips part, her breath warm and fast.

“I could have you begging in under five minutes.” I lean in, my voice rough against her ear. “And you’d love every second.”

She sways closer, hands resting on my chest like she might push me away. I dip my head just enough to breathe her in. My mouth brushes her jaw—barely. Not a kiss. Not quite. But it’s enough to make her knees soften and her fingers curl into my shirt.

“Say the word, Skye,” I murmur. “And I’ll stop pretending I don’t want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until you forget every man who’s come before me.”

She inhales sharply, lips parting like she’s actually going to say it. But then—voices. Loud laughter behind us. Footsteps echoing down the hall. She jerks slightly, and I step back fast. We both breathe hard, like we’ve surfaced from something dangerous.

She swallows, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “We should go back.”

I nod, even though I want nothing more than to drag her into the nearest dark room and make good on every threat I’ve ever swallowed.

“Yeah.” I nod. My hand falls from her skin, fingers curling into a fist. She turns and disappears into the corridor, but I don’t follow right away.

I stay frozen, staring at the spot she stood, replaying the way she leaned into me. The way she didn’t say no. The way she looked like shewantedme to say fuck it and lose control.

And maybe I would’ve. If we hadn’t been interrupted. I glance back toward the main room. The lights. The noise. The art I never cared about. Elliot’s probably still making rounds. There’s half a drink waiting for me on the bar but I don’t give a fuck. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be dragging her out of here in the next thirty seconds and I’m pretty sure that’s a scene neither of us wants to deal with in the morning.

I head for the side exit, pushing the door open into the night. The air hits me cold and clean, like punishment. I walk to the car without looking back.

I need distance. Because if I stay— I’ll break every rule I’ve set. And I won’t stop at just touching her next time.