Page 118 of Revenge Puck

That doesn’t mean they crawl under your skin and settle there like a tick. That doesn’t mean they make you question your own motives. That doesn’t mean they make you want to be better than the man you were five minutes ago.

Big fucking deal.

I can’t imagine what the look on her face is going to be when?—

“Can I say something cheesy without you getting all weird on me?”

I nod because that’s all I can muster up.

“No guy has ever…” She swallows the confession. “Treated me this way before. You make me feel so safe.”

Safe.

Jesus H Christ. I am going to hell.

My chest constricts so hard I have to look away for half a second. Safe is the last thing I should be to her.

I glance toward the television, pretending to focus on whatever’s flashing across the screen. Because if I keep staring at her while she’s saying things like that, I might have second thoughts about all this.

“Come here, babe.” I know the words are manipulative, but they slip out and sound like the right thing to say.

I pull her into me—tuck one of my arms behind my pillow, the other sliding around her waist until she’s flush against my chest. I press my mouth into her hair, inhale the expensive shampoo.

She sighs against me, palms sliding up my chest. Around my neck, fingers teasing the hair at my nape. “You know what the worst part about dating you is?”

“What?” I murmur.

“Seeing you in secret is the most rebellious thing I’ve done. It makes me feel like such a badass.” She laughs.

My heart thuds.

If only her only danger was a fucking memo at the office; human resources isn’t what’s going to bring this all crashing down.

“That’s the worst part?” I am unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Obviously,” she teases, raising her face to look at me, lips kissing the tip of my chin. “We’ll have to calculate the risk at some point to see if we should, you know—keep talking.”

Talking?

We’ve barely done any talking.

I can barely keep my fucking hands off her.

They run up the small of her back and down again, cupping her ass and squeezing the cheeks.

“Calculate the risk,” I repeat thoughtfully.

She wiggles her tits against my chest. “Pros and cons. Probability of getting caught. Likelihood of scandal.” Her smile turns delightfully wicked. “You’re very scandalous.”

If she only knew.

My jaw tightens. “What’s the current verdict?”

She pretends to think about it, eyes sparkling. “High reward. Manageable risk.”

“You sure about that?” Naïve little Juliette doesn’t understand the risk isn’t professional.

“Pretty sure,” she whispers.