Page 75 of Ruled By Rivalry

As soon as we ascended the stoop up to our building, Lewis drove off, and Elliot’s grip around me tightened once more. “Want to repeat that?”

The threatening undertone did something to me. I couldn’t be sure what.

“I’m—” I gasped another laugh when he squeezed the back of my leg. Turned out I was ticklish. “Kidding?”

“The other thing,” he demanded. And somehow, he managed to unlock the building without needing me off his shoulder.

I tried again. “It’s not that I don’t believe you’re strong?”

“Your compliments won’t save you, Peterson.” And this time, I could hear his grin.

The door fell shut behind me, and his grip loosened. I expected that my compliments had saved me. That he’d let me down and I’d get as far away as possible from the feeling of his hand very nearly on my ass. From the way I wished it had been below my dress, and ridden up a little farther.

Instead, I slipped from his shoulder into his arms, which was the opposite of far away. Not only was his touch searing through my clothes now; his eyes were boring into mine, and I couldn’t look away from that dimpled grin.

Instinctively, my arms wrapped around his neck. His smile deepened, and he started climbing.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, looking away. “I think you’re just underestimating how heavy a human being is. Is there anything you might have underestimated, Lucky?”

How much I enjoy spending time with you.

How nice it feels to be in your arms.

How easy it is to let myself be swept up in a man, and how unfair it was of me to judge my friends for the same offense.

Those weren’t the confessions he was looking for, though. And not any he’d ever get to hear.

“Oh,” I swooned, falling back in his arms, body hanging limply as he carried me up the stairs bridal style. “I’m sorry for underestimating your strong arms, big muscles, huge biceps.” I held on to them just to make a point, and didn’t want to let go again. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, oh-glorious Elliot Ashwood?”

“Hmmm,” he thought, a laugh on his lips. “I’d have to consider. Anything that could make your offer more enticing?”

“Name your price and I’ll pay it.”

My mouth was just moving on its own at this point. I couldn’t blame the sleep, the alcohol, or whatever else I’d used as excuses all night because the real reason I was flirting with him was simply because I wanted to flirt with him. Because I was comfortable, having fun, and maybe, I think, wanted to have sex with Elliot Ashwood.

That’s what that unidentifiable weight in the pit of my stomach was. The one that, every now and then, appeared a little lower, in my core. Pulsing and aching and screaming his name.

He groaned again, his fingers flexing around my legs and ribs. “Don’t—”

“Why not?” I played with the first button of his shirt, and I could tell he was growing impatient. Not tired from carrying me up the stairs or exhausted because I did weigh more than he’d expected. Just impatient and really desperate to get behind that door of ours.

“Because we can’t.” But the way he sighed in relief when we made it to the top floor said differently. “Because it’s late, and we’ve got work tomorrow. And we can’t—”

He let me out of his arms gently, waited until I’d grasped my footing, then turned to unlock our door.

“What if I want to?”

“Maeve.” That warning note in his tone again.

I wish I knew why. The previous excitement was replaced by confused desperation and a need to cling to some of my self-respect.

He managed to get the door open, let me in, and threw it shut a little too loudly behind me. As if he needed that space between us, he went to stand on the other side of the hall, taking his first deep breath in a while, clinging to the door of his room like a lifeline.

“You should sleep,” he added. “Really. Trust me. You don’t want this.”

But what if I did? What if I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more?

I wasn’t in the habit of begging, though. Especially not for a man.