Chapter 7 #2
"Hi," I say, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense gaze. The office seems smaller with him in it, the air charged with electricity. "Hank says we need you at the bar. It's slammed out there."
Cain doesn't move. His eyes remain fixed on me, traveling from the velvet boots up my bare legs to where his flannel hangs open over my dress. The silence stretches between us, thick with tension.
"Is that my shirt?" he finally asks, his voice deeper than usual.
I run my fingers along the worn fabric, heat rising to my cheeks. "I borrowed it. I can take it off if—"
"Don't." The word comes out sharp, almost like a command. He stands slowly, pushing away from the desk. "Don't take it off."
My heart hammers against my ribs as he moves around the desk toward me. Each step is deliberate, predatory. I should back up, give him space, but my body refuses to move. I'm rooted to the spot, watching him approach like a rabbit watching a wolf.
"You look…" He trails off, stopping just inches from me. I can feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the cedar and whiskey that cling to his skin. Close enough to touch, but he doesn't.
"You look like you… good," he finishes, his voice rough. "Real good."
I can't breathe. Can't think. His eyes are locked on mine, dark and hungry in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly. The air between us feels charged, electric.
"We should get back to the bar," I whisper, but I don't move. Don't want to move.
Cain reaches out, his tattooed fingers grazing the edge of his flannel where it hangs open over my dress. "This…" he says, tugging gently on the fabric, drawing me closer. "This does things to me, little rabbit."
My heart is hammering so hard I'm certain he can hear it. "What kind of things?"
He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "The kind that would make a saint sin."
His lips brush against my neck, just below my ear—feather-light, barely a touch. My eyes flutter closed, a small gasp escaping my lips.
His hand slides to my waist, fingers splaying across the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. I can't breathe. Can't think. The only thing that exists is the heat of his body against mine, the scent of him surrounding me, his lips hovering just above my skin.
"I've been trying to keep my distance," he murmurs, his voice rough against my ear. "Trying to be the good guy."
I tilt my head back, exposing more of my neck to him. "I never asked you to be good."
Something snaps in him—I can feel it, the moment restraint gives way to hunger. His lips crash against mine, hard and demanding. I gasp into his mouth, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders, steadying myself as my knees threaten to buckle.
He tastes like whiskey and sin, his tongue sliding against mine with a confidence that makes the heat pool low in my belly.
One of his hands tangles in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, while the other presses against the small of my back, holding me against him so tightly I can feel every hard plane of his body.
I moan into his mouth, my body melting against him. His teeth graze my bottom lip, a hint of pain that makes me gasp and press closer. I've never been kissed like this—like I'm something precious and dangerous all at once.
The door rattles behind me as he backs me against it, one hand sliding down to grip my thigh, hitching it up against his hip. The heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric of my dress, leaving fire in its wake.
"Cain," I breathe against his lips, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and hungry. "Tell me to stop," he says, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
Instead of answering, I pull him back to me, capturing his mouth with mine. My hands slide up to tangle in his hair, holding him to me like I'm drowning and he's air.
A loud bang on the door breaks us apart.
"Hey! Bathroom?" A slurred voice shouts from the other side, and the doorknob rattles violently.
I jump back from Cain, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now. My lips feel swollen, electric from his kiss. Reality crashes back like a bucket of cold water.
"Wrong door!" Cain barks, his voice rough with frustration. He runs a hand through his hair, which is now mussed from my fingers. "Bathroom's down the hall to your left."
There's a mumbled "Sorry" and the sound of stumbling footsteps moving away.
We stare at each other, both breathing hard. The moment stretches between us, charged and fragile. Cain's eyes are still dark with want, his jaw tight with restraint.
"We should…" I gesture vaguely toward the door, my voice unsteady.
"Yeah." Cain nods, but doesn't move. His gaze drops to my lips again. "Hank's probably cursing us both."
I smooth down my dress, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I look okay?"
The corner of his mouth lifts in that dangerous half-smile that makes my stomach flip. His eyes rake over me slowly, from my velvet boots to my smudged lipstick.
"You look…" he pauses, stepping closer until I'm backed against the door again, "like every dark thought I've ever had." His voice drops to that rumble that vibrates through my chest. "Sweet sin in a stolen shirt."
My breath catches at the praise, heat flooding my cheeks and spreading lower. The way he's looking at me—like I'm something to be devoured—makes me feel powerful in a way I haven't in months.
"Sweet sin?" I echo, testing the nickname on my tongue. "Is that what I am to you?"
His tattooed fingers trace the edge of his flannel where it hangs open over my dress, barely touching my skin but leaving fire in their wake. "You're the best kind of trouble, Mags. The kind worth burning for."
Before I can respond, he captures my mouth again, gentler this time but no less devastating.
I melt against him, my hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders.
He tastes like whiskey and promise, and I drink him in, like he's the last drop of water in a desert.
His tongue slides against mine, and I press closer, wanting more, needing more.
But the bar calls. Reality intrudes in the form of raised voices and shattering glass from beyond the door.
"Dammit," Cain mutters against my lips, pulling back reluctantly. His eyes are dark with promise, his breathing as ragged as mine. "We need to get back out there."
I nod, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "Hank's probably overwhelmed."
Cain's thumb traces my bottom lip, wiping away smudged lipstick. "We'll finish this later," he promises, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes goosebumps spread across my body.
"Is that an order or a request?" I ask, surprising myself with my boldness.
His lips curve into that wicked half-smile. "Consider it a guarantee, little rabbit."