Page 42 of Phantom Faceoff
Should being called contagiously out of control be a turn on? Because I don’t think it should. Yet here we are with that little spark of arousal lighting up.
“And what fate might that be, Blanchard?”
He steps forward, crossing the room until we’re maybe a foot apart, and I have to crane my head back to see his face.
“Us. Doing something reckless.”
I grin. I can’t help it. Wide and unnerving—I can see the hesitation cross his face.
I like the idea of making him lose his composure.
“Are you calling my state of undress tempting?”
His eyes spring to mine, and then slowly trail down until that spark becomes a flickering flame come to life. There’s a slight tremble to his lip as he licks it and drags it between his teeth.
“You’re overconfident.”
“Am I?” I lean back, making sure every visible part of me is on display. “Tell me you don’t want to kiss me.”
Those gray eyes darken to their stormy shade as he leans forward, gripping the edge of a cubbie. “I can honestly say that kissing you isn’t the thought on my mind right now.”
Oh.
Oh, I like that idea better.
Not that I can say “please get down here and blow me” or “come just a little closer and let me blow you” with how thick my tongue feels as Malachi reaches a hand down and cards it through my hair.
“Sexy,” he says, and it sounds strange coming from his lips, but sensual enough that my body reacts to it.
Normally, I’d lean into it, but the entire scenario is making me a little bit antsy. Like there’s a loose string hanging just out of reach that needs clipped away.
“Oh, are you talking to me? Because you haven’t done that in weeks.”
His brows shoot up, that cocky confidence falters. There’s a few beats where neither of us speaks, but then Malachi tightens his fingers in my hair and lowers himself excruciatingly slowly to his knees.
We’re nearly eye to eye, and his hand drops down to cup the back of my neck. One firm squeeze and my shoulders droop. I hadn’t even realized they were tensed.
Malachi cocks his head, and then his fingers are back to playing, drawing nonsense patterns over my shoulder blades and collarbones.
“Want me to stop?”
Indignation bubbles up in my chest, but Malachi pressing his thumb to the center of my throat and dragging it down … down my sternum to stop at the knot in my towel … it stamps the fight out in an instant.
“No,” I say, quiet and—dare I say—whiny. “I didn’t want you to in the first place.”
There’s instant understanding in his eyes. He’s been thinking about it just as much as I have.
The kiss.
He brings his touch to my waist, just shy of bruising, and I like it more than I care to admit.
“Tell me what you want.”
It’s hard not to laugh, but I hold it back.
“You.”
His breathing comes out quicker. His eyes close for a second.
