Page 86 of Ice Cold Chemistry
“Yeah, I guess,” he concedes.
“I know this is fake,” I continue, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “And I know we never talked about… I mean, we have rules, but we never discussed… exclusivity. Or whatever.”
“Exclusivity.”
“I just—if you’re hooking up with other people, I’d rather know now. So I can manage my expectations. So I don’t—”So I don’t fall any harder than I already have.“So I know where I stand.”
Silence.
The music keeps playing. Couples continue swaying around us, but Banks has stopped moving entirely.
“Come with me.” He takes my hand and pulls me off the dance floor—not roughly, but urgently. His grip is firm as he weaves through the crowd, past the bar, past the silent auction tables, down a hallway I hadn’t even noticed before.
“Banks, where are we—”
He pushes open a door and tugs me inside.
It’s some kind of prep room—catering equipment,stacked chairs, extra linens. Dim lighting. Empty.
He closes the door behind us.
“Banks—”
“You think I could look at anyone else after having you in my lap? After having your hands on me?”
I blink, processing.
He looks almost pained. “Win.” His voice is low, rough. “I don’t share. I don’t wander. And I haven’t wanted anyone in years.” His hand tightens on my waist. “Until you made me want things I can’t have.”
Oh.
He backs me up a step, hands still on my waist. “And for the record, I haven’t touched anyone in three years. And I haven’t wanted to. Until you.”
The words land like a thunderclap.
He’s standing close now, so close that I have to tip my head back to see his face. His expression is intense, almost fierce.
My heart is hammering. “You haven’t?”
“No.” He takes a step closer. I step back until my shoulders hit the wall. “I don’t do hookups. I don’t do casual. I’m not good at letting people get close. So I don’t. I stay alone. It’s easier.”
Banks cups my face in his hands, tilting it up toward his. His palms are warm, and his eyes are burning as he strokes my cheeks with his thumbs. “There’s only you, Win. There’s been only you since the day you smiled at me in that cafeteria and I forgot how to speak.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. All I can do is stareat him.
“I don’t share,” he says, his voice dropping low. “I don’t even know how. If you’re mine—even fake mine—you’re mine. That’s it.”
“Banks—”
He kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not tentative. It’s an explosion—his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs. His hands slide from my face into my hair, tilting my head back, angling me exactly where he wants me.
I grab the lapels of his tux and hold on for dear life.
He tastes like champagne and desire. His tongue strokes against mine, and I make a needy sound I’ve never made before—something between a gasp and a moan. He swallows it and kisses me harder.
This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is what I didn’t know I needed. Every nerve in my body is on fire, every thought in my head reduced tomore, more, more.
