Page 70 of The Risk Taker

He stops a step away. Too close. Always too close. His gaze flicks over my face, drops to my mouth, and that little grin ghosts back in place. “You look good like this,” he murmurs. “Cornered. Flustered.”

My throat’s dry even though I downed a glass of water. I can smell him from how close he is, the scent of his cologne filling my nose, making me dizzy.

“You’re so wound up,” he whispers, the words hitting my lips. “C’mon, Hayes. Take a little risk for once in your life.”

I don’t answer.Can’t. His lips slowly curve into a teasing smirk before he drops to his knees in front of me, and my eyes drop without my permission, following the movement. Heat flares low in my stomach, blood rushing south so fast I grit my teeth.

“Fuck,” I groan. “What—what are you doing?”

He looks up at me with a wicked grin and then reaches past me, opens the cabinet near my hip, and grabs a bag of chips. “Just grabbing this.”

I exhale hard, gripping the cabinet harder. He’s toying with me. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s driving me insane.

He rises to his feet, his smirk still in place, clearly enjoying torturing me. “See you out there?—”

I grab his wrist, stopping him.

He glances down at my grip, then back up, his brows raised as he lets out a small chuckle. “I was just joking, Hayes?—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I grind out, my voice shaking. “I’m done with the teasing.”

His smirk falters for the first time and before I can lose my nerve, I yank him toward me, slam my mouth against his, and everything I’ve been fighting against finally breaks loose.

19

LOGAN

The second our lips touch, all that cocky resolve I walked out here with—the teasing, the control, the smug little plan I had in my head—is just gone. Blown to pieces.

His hands have moved. They’re no longer locked behind him on the counter like he’s trying to stay grounded. One’s in my hair now, his fingers threading deep at the back of my neck like he doesn’t want to risk letting go.

The other is gripping my waist, and he pulls me toward him just slightly, making my hips press forward. I groan into his mouth, and he answers with a groan of his own, pulling back a second later, his eyes blown wide.

He’s flushed. Breathing hard. His hand still tangled in my hair, the other gripping my hip like he’s afraid I might vanish if he lets up even a little.

God, hekissedme. He actually fucking kissed me.

I pull back slightly to look up at him, brushing my nose against his, letting my hand drift down from his jaw to rest gently against his neck, where his pulse pounds fast beneath my palm.

“You okay?” I ask, breathing hard. “We can stop if you need?—”

He squeezes my hip, shaking his head before I finish. “No.” He swallows hard. “I just—fuck, that was good.”

“Yeah?” I murmur, one hand coming up to rest against his jaw, flashing him a teasing smirk. “You wanna do it again?”

He nods, letting out a harsh breath. “So fucking bad.”

He doesn’t even let me say anything; he just leans in and kisses me again, stealing the air from my lungs. He isn’t careful this time. He isn’t testing the waters. He knows exactly what he wants. His mouth opens under mine, hungry and a little desperate, andJesus Christ,I wasn’t prepared for this.

He kisses like he’s making up for lost time, and the moment his mouth crashes into mine, it’s like a dam bursting. All the weeks of tension and half-glances slam into me at once.

His breath drags hot against my cheek as I angle my mouth to his, deepening, pushing, letting him feel exactly how badly I want this too. The kiss grows messy, heated, our breaths tangling, his teeth catching my bottom lip in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

My hand slides down to his hip, my fingers pressing into the soft groove just above his waistband. His breath snags mid-kiss, a sharp, helpless little hitch he tries to swallow down but can’t. His fingers twist hard into the fabric of my shirt, bunching it in his fist like he’s trying to drag me inside him, like the inches of space that don’t even exist between us are still somehow too much.

The needy moan he makes when I pull back kills me a little. I rest my forehead against his again, needing a little breather. His eyes are dazed, those brown eyes, heavy and hooded, and his lips—God, those lips—pink, swollen, and slightly parted as if he’s still chasing the ghost of my mouth. He shivers when I touch him again.

“You’re shaking,” I murmur, because how the hell could I not notice when he’s practically vibrating against me.