Page 36 of Hunt Me

“Don’t get cocky.” I recover enough to lean against her doorframe, letting my gaze travel deliberately down her body and back up. “I’m just deciding whether to take you to dinner or skip straight to dessert.”

Color rises in her cheeks.

“Dinner,” she says firmly. “That was the deal.”

“Right.” I straighten, offering my arm like a gentleman instead of a predator. “Shall we?”

The elevator ride down is torture.

She keeps herself on the opposite side of the small space, arms crossed like she’s protecting something precious. I lean against the mirrored wall and watch her reflection instead of staring directly.

Her jaw clenches when she catches me looking.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she says.

“What doesn’t?”

“This.” She waves a hand between us. “One date doesn’t mean I’m calling a truce.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I push off the wall as the doors slide open. “Where’s the fun in a truce?”

My hand finds the small of her back as we cross the lobby. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away.

My Tesla is parked at the curb, and I open the passenger door, and she slides in, the dress riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her thigh.

I take a moment to appreciate the view before rounding to the driver’s side.

“Where are we going?” she asks as I start the engine.

“You’ll see.”

“How original.”

I pull into traffic, one hand on the wheel. The other finds her knee.

She jumps. “What are you?—”

“Relax.” My thumb traces slow circles against her skin. “Just getting comfortable.”

“Your hand is on my leg.”

“Observant.” I slide my palm higher, just above her knee. “That Stanford education is really paying off.”

She swats at my wrist. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Make me.”

Her fingers wrap around mine, trying to push me away. But her grip lacks conviction, and when I shift my hand just slightly—thumb brushing the inside of her thigh—her breath catches.

“Alexi.”

The way she says my name shoots straight through me.

I glance over. Her pupils are dilated, lips parted. She’s still gripping my wrist, but now it feels less like resistance and more like she’s anchoring herself.

“Tell me to stop.” I flex my fingers, testing. “Say the word and I will.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Her eyes dart between my face and the road ahead.