Page 21 of Off-Limits Bad Boy
“Whatever you call it,” I say, rolling my eyes to hide the fact that every fiber of my being disagrees with my words. I don’t want him to stop this, I don’t want him to go back to annoying me. I just know that’s safer than whatever this is we’re currently doing. “Just be that guy again, okay?”
He studies me for a moment, head tilted, obviously trying to dissect my words and thoughts. Then he chuckles—a deep sound that fills the room and has me closing my eyes, wishing to hear more of his voice. “You love it,” he says, and he’s not wrong.
But I’d rather die than tell him that. “Love what?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
His eyes narrow, as if he’s on to me. “Me, getting under your skin.”
He’s not wrong, and he’s too close to the truth for comfort. “Keep dreaming, Kade,” I say, even though his proximity makes it hard to breathe.
“Already am, sweetheart. Every night,” he says, reaching out to drag his knuckles down my cheek. His gaze ticks to mine, and the intensity in his expression leaves me breathless.
A shiver runs down my spine. I'm playing with fire, and I know it.
I reach for my glass of water, hoping that some liquid will combat the dryness of my throat. But Kade is quicker. He snatches the water from the table, mischief sparking in his dark eyes.
“Kade, what are you doing?” I ask.
He just arches an eyebrow at me, that all-too-familiar grin playing on his lips.
“I just want a drink,” I say, reaching for my glass as exasperation fills my voice. On some level, I recognize he’s doing exactly what I asked, and I’m annoyed, yet slightly grateful.
“You’re too young to drink,” he says, bringing us right back to that conversation we’d had at the club the night we got stuck together.
“Ha ha,” I say, my tone flat to show I’m not actually amused. “That joke never gets old.” I roll my eyes at him, and his grin widens.
“Thank you for going back to being an insufferable jerk.” At least he’s good at this part. I reach for my glass, but he pulls it back out of my grasp once more.
He chuckles, and the sound sends a tremble through me as if he’d actually touched me. “It's not my fault you like me,” he says, and I swear my heart stops beating.
“Like you?” The question escapes before I can stop it and a snort bursts out of me.
I see a flash of something like hurt in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can confirm. “Admit it, Emma Riley,” he says in a soft tone, once again closing the distance between us.
“Never.” I won’t give him the satisfaction, but every cell in my body screams the truth. I do like him. And that’s why I need him to be a jerk... so I’ll stop liking him again. Because this isn’t okay.
With a flick of his wrist, he pretends to spill water on me, and I let out a squeak and slap the cup to stop him from splashing me. The cold liquid sloshes over the rim and peppers us both with icy-cold drops.
I jump up, dripping onto the floor. “You deserve that,” I say, defiance - and something else - heating my cheeks.
He doesn't miss a beat. “If this is how you treat guests, no wonder you're lonely.”
“Who says I'm lonely?” I’m offended and hurt. Perfect - that’s exactly what I need to stop this weird pull between us. Our soaked shirts cling to our skin, the lines between annoyance and attraction still blurring. I need him to get meaner.
He stands, dripping wet and intense. His humor has disappeared, replaced by something dark and thrilling. As he moves closer to me, I feel the heat radiating off him, even through the chill of my drenched clothes.
“Emma,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous, “Tell me you’re not lonely. I dare you.”
I freeze. I’m not sure I should lie to him - I am lonely. But that’s not a spot in my life that he can fill.
A moment ticks by, then another, and he pulls back, a triumphant sparkle in his dark eyes.
I become incredibly aware of the wet fabric that hugs my skin, and I can feel Kade's eyes tracing the outline of my body.
His gaze carries the weight of physical touch and leaves something fluttering in my belly. Excitement spreads through my veins; it's unnerving, this intensity between us. I can’t imagine what would happen if either one of us actually gave into the pull that drags us in to one another. Surely it’s the thrill of him being off-limits that’s still fanning that flame.
“Emma,” he says, his voice a deep, concerned rumble, “you're shaking.” He steps closer, the air between us taking on a wild and dangerous charge that crackles almost audibly.
“Am I?” I hear the tremble in my voice. I hate what he does to me, and I wish I could hate him.