Page 82 of Wrong For Me

“Yup,” she says happily, her fingers flexing against my chest. That’s when it dawns on me—her fingers are on my chest, my hand holding hers in place. She’s touching me, and I’m touching her, and it feels so damn good.

I think it must hit Rose at the same time, because her glassy eyes widen. But she doesn’t pull away.

“I have a bunch of episodes saved on my phone,” she whispers, gaze drifting down to my lips in a way that makes me want to groan. “We could listen to them back in the room.”

The way she’s looking at me has my blood thrumming with fire. Still, I can’t help the smirk. “Are you trying to lure me up to your hotel room with the promise of a grisly murder podcast?”

She pulls her hand away, scowling, but I don’t let her get far. Instead I tuck her hand right back into mine, threading our fingers. I’m not ready for this night to be over. Not by a long shot.

“Let’s go get another drink,” I say. Maybe if I monopolize enough of her time she’ll forget all about the hot tub party with sweater vest and the Harvard dick. “There’s a nice bar at the back of the resort. Has a fireplace and couches. Awesome view of the mountains.”

She studies my face for a long moment, like she’s trying to read my intentions.You and me both, Rose,I think. I have no idea what I’m doing right now, but I do know that it’s dangerous. At the same time, I’m finding it very difficult to care. Not with her standing so close to me.

“Okay,” she finally says, nodding once. “Another drink sounds great.”

I lead her out of the ballroom, heart thudding heavy in my chest. She holds my hand the entire way.