Page 24 of Over the Edge

“They’re beautiful,” she said, “but deadly. No brain, no heart, just instinct and poison.”

“Sounds like my ex,” I quipped.

That earned me another real laugh. Two in one day—I was on a roll.

She tracked one particularly graceful specimen with her eyes. “They’re survivors. They’ve outlasted dinosaurs, but they’re existence is so simple. So pure. They just… are. No pretending to be something they’re not.”

I couldn’t help myself. I had to touch her. She looked ethereal in this light, like something out of mythology. I reached out and trailed my fingers over the curve of her cheek, curling my hand around the back of her neck and pulling her against me.

Jesus, this was a bad idea.

Just like the kiss in the limo had been.

But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she melted into me, one hand sliding up my chest to curl around my collar. Her eyes closed briefly, almost a surrender, and when they opened again, I saw something I hadn’t before—a flash of genuine desire, unguarded and raw.

“Careful,” I murmured.

“I’m always careful,” she whispered, but there was nothing careful about the way her body arched toward mine or how her fingers tightened around my collar.

I backed her against the glass. Her breath hitched, that small sound hitting me harder than any explosion ever had.

“No,” I said, “you’re not. Not right now.”

Something fierce and hungry flashed in her eyes. “I don’t want to be careful. Not for these four hours.”

She kissed me this time, nothing like the calculated seduction she played out for Moreau.

This kiss was real. Messy. Desperate. Her lips were demanding, teeth grazing my lower lip, her body pressing against mine like she was trying to climb inside my skin. When my hand slid to her waist, drawing her closer, she made a sound in the back of her throat that nearly undid me.

Warning bells clanged in my head, but I ignored them and tangled my other hand in her hair, messing up what remained of Elisa’s perfect style. I wanted to see what Lyric looked like with her hair wild, her makeup smudged, and her carefully constructed walls down.

Her hands were everywhere, sliding under my jacket, nails scraping lightly against my back, tugging at my shirt. When she slipped one hand between us and traced the waistband of my pants, I caught her wrist.

“Not here,” I rasped against her mouth, even as every cell in my body screamed at me to shut up and let her continue.

Her pupils were blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green around the black. Her lips, swollen from our kiss, curved into a smile that was pure temptation. “You started it back in the limo.”

“And I plan to finish it. Just not in front of the jellyfish.”

“Afraid you’ll get performance anxiety?” She traced a nail over the bulge at my fly, and I swear I felt the touch all the way down my spine.

I bit back a groan. “More concerned about traumatizing the school group about to round that corner.”

On cue, the excited chatter of children filtered through the aquarium.

Lyric stepped back, though her fingers remained tangled with mine. I watched her, fascinated, as she made no move to fix her disheveled appearance. For these four hours, she wasn’t trying to be perfect.

“And,” I added in a growl against her ear as the kids oohed and ahhed over the jellyfish, “when I finally get you naked, I want more than a quick fuck against a wall. I want time. Space.” I grazed her earlobe with my teeth and felt her shiver. “Privacy.”

Her lips parted, eyes still dark with desire, but there was uncertainty there, too, like she wasn’t sure if this was part of the act or something more dangerous.

It was definitely something more dangerous.

And if I had any sense in my head, I’d slam on the brakes now.

“I thought you were a man who took what he wanted,” she whispered.

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