Page 35 of From the Wreckage

Everett

“Finish your drink,” I rasp, “I’m taking you home.”

Instead of obeying, she tilts her head, mischief glinting in her eyes. “I want to show you something first.”

Before I can ask, she snaps her book closed, sets it on the table, and stands. Her fingers twine through mine—small, warm, and certain—as she tugs me toward the back of the shop.

The shelves grow taller, the lights dimmer, until we’re tucked into a quiet corner no one bothers with. My pulse spikes when she stops, pivots, and rises onto her toes. Her arms loop around my neck, pulling me down.

Her mouth finds mine in a kiss that detonates every ounce of restraint I’ve been clinging to.

I groan against her lips, one arm banding tightly around her waist, the other sliding into her hair as I devour her.

She tastes like espresso and heat, her body pressed flush to mine like she was made to fit there.

“Bri,” I growl against her mouth, my forehead resting against hers as I fight to keep control. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“Maybe I don’t care,” she whispers, her breath hot on my lips.

Christ. My whole body aches with the need to pin her against these shelves and forget the world exists. But I force myself to ease back and look into her eyes. The smug little grin tugging at her lips says she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

“Now,” she teases, slipping her hand into mine again, “you can take me home.”

The drive back to her house is torture.

The air in the cab of my truck is too thick. She’s sitting so close that her thigh brushes mine when we hit a curve, and she doesn’t move away. My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

She leans her head against the seat, watching me with a soft smile on her lips. “You’re quiet.”

“Trying not to do something stupid,” I mutter.

“Like what?” Her tone is innocent, but her hand slides down, resting on her bare thigh in a way that makes my vision blur.

I bite out a curse, my jaw tight. “Like pulling over and taking you right here.”

Her smile turns wicked. “What if I want you to?”

My grip on the wheel tightens so hard it creaks. I cut her a sharp look, my voice a low growl. “Angel, don’t test me.”

She just grins wider, sipping from her iced latte like she hasn’t just set me on fire.

By the time I pull into her driveway, my whole body is wound tight, every muscle straining with the need to take her back to my cabin instead. But her dad’s truck is parked right out front, a brutal reminder of my betrayal.

I kill the engine, staring straight ahead, forcing my pulse to slow.

She leans over, her lips brushing my cheek. “Thanks for the ride, Everett.”

I squeeze my eyes shut because if I look at her right now, my restraint will shatter.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter.

When the door shuts behind her, I finally breathe, dragging a hand down my face.

She’s going to be the death of me.