Page 9 of Silver Fox Puck

And maybe that’s what gets me the most. Because I don’t think he makes offers he doesn’t intend to follow through on.

I let my fingers ghost over the edge of the key card, then lift my eyes to his.

“There’s one rule,” he says, low and controlled.

“Yeah?” I ask softly. “What’s the rule?”

His eyes darken.

“No strings. No expectations.”

My pulse skips.

That would be a deal-breaker to anyone else. It would make anyone else think twice.

But me?

My lips curve.

“Perfect.”

I take the key.

With that move, I seal my fate. The card is warm in my hand. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s the heat of arousal between my thighs, licking at the edges of something dangerous.

Maybe it’s the way my breath catches slightly as I trail behind him, my gaze drawn to the broad set of his shoulders as he moves through the dimly lit hotel corridor.

Maybe it’s because I still can’t believe I’m doing this with a man I already am feeling something for.

I don’t do this when there are feelings involved. Not like this. Not when I’m so turned on already that I can’t think straight. Not with someone who looks like he could unravel me with nothing but a look.

But it’s happening. It’s real.

And when we step into the elevator—when the doors slide shut behind us, sealing us into a quiet, intimate space—I feel it.

The shift. The tightening of the air. And I’m suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

The way his chest rises and falls, slow and measured. The way the soft hum of the elevator feels deafening in the thick silence. But most of all, the fact that he hasn’t touched me yet.

I steal a glance at him. He’s leaning against the side of the elevator, hands casually tucked into his pockets. But there’s nothing relaxed about him. Not in the way his jaw is tight. Not in the way his fingers twitch slightly—like they’re resisting the urge to do something about the space between us.

Not in the way he’s looking at me now— Like he’s waiting to see if I can handle this. If I can handle him. A thrill runs down my spine.

Because I like this game. I like the way he’s holding back, but barely. I like the way I can feel the tension coiled inside him, waiting for permission to snap. I take a slow breath and move—just a little.

Just enough to close some of the space between us, for my shoulder to brush against his arm.

His reaction is immediate. A subtle inhale. The clench of his jaw. The smallest flicker of heat in his eyes. And suddenly, I feel powerful.

Because I did that. I made him react. I made him lose just a fraction of that ironclad control. And I want to see what happens if I push him a little more.

"So," I murmur, voice lower now. "Are you always this patient?"

His gaze flickers, amusement touching the edges of his dark eyes. "Only when it’s worth it."

My stomach tightens.

The weight of those words settles between us, thick and heavy.

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