Page 36 of Dirty Play

“And?” He steps inside, locking the door behind him with a soft click that seems to echo in the small space.Oh, no.My heart is already jumping with excitement, my traitorous body rejoicing at the sight of him.

His broad shoulders hide the door behind him, and the look on his face sends a shiver down my spine. He’s calm, but his gaze tells a different story. It’s dark and smoldering.

I narrow my eyes, trying to muster some kind of indignation, but it’s hard when he looks at me like that.

“Andyou can’t be here.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” His voice is low and rough, and it cuts through me like a blade. My breath catches as he takes a slow step toward me.

“Rowan,” I warn, but it comes out more like a plea.

“Yes?” he drawls, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

He moves closer, his steps deliberate, unhurried. The air grows thicker with each inch he closes between us.

I try to take a step back, but the counter is at my hips, trapping me.

“This is very inappropriate,” I say, my voice thin and shaky.

“It is.” Rowan’s lips twitch, his amusement only adding to my frustration. “But you love it.” He places his hands on either side of the counter, caging me in.Again.

The movement forces me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze, and the way he’s looking at me makes my knees weak.

His scent surrounds me, something dark and woodsy, mixed with the faintest trace of whiskey. It’s intoxicating, suffocating, and I hate how much I like it.

“You’re imagining things,” I snap, but the words lack any real bite.

“Am I?” Rowan leans in.

My breath hitches, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. His hand moves, the back of his knuckles grazing my bare arm, and the simple touch sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

I press my hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but the moment my palms meet the hard muscle beneath his shirt, I forget what I was going to do.

His hand trails down, skimming the curve of my waist, slow and deliberate. My body betrays me, arching into his touch, and the heat pooling in my stomach becomes unbearable.

“Rowan, get out.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he makes me burn.

“No.”

The single word is final, firm, and when I open my eyes, his gaze locks onto mine. The hunger there steals the air from my lungs.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice dark and sure. “Tell me you don’t feel this, and I’ll get out.”

My lips part to speak, but the words don’t come. They’re trapped somewhere between the molten heat spreading through my veins and the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. The hard muscle under my palms is distracting me.

I lower my hands from his chest, gripping the counter behind me. Rowan doesn’t give me time to think, doesn’t let me build walls or find my footing.

His hand slides to the small of my back, the heat of his palm burning my bare skin. I shouldn’t have worn a backless dress.

The other hand comes to rest on my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek with a tenderness that feels like mockery, considering the intensity in his eyes.

“Nothing to say?” he asks, his voice a low rasp. “That’s a first.”

I glare at him, or at least I try to. It’s hard when his thumb drags across my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed on the movement like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

I hate how easily he gets under my skin, how his words cut through my defenses like they’re made of paper. But more than that, I hate the way my body responds to him, the way it betrays me with every shiver, every gasp, every traitorous tilt of my hips toward his.

“Rowan, I mean it.”

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