Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (72)
I swallow. “I want you, Elias.”
His throat rumbles with an appreciative sound. Elias grips my waist and pushes me back into the edge of the counter until it digs into my spine. I don’t register the sting of pain because he drags his tongue up the side of my neck to my ear.
“Again,” he rasps.
I inhale a tattered breath when he picks me up and deposits me on the countertop. The cold marble touches the sizzling skin of my thighs, making me dig my nails into his shoulders and whisper, “I want you.”
An audible snap can be heard in the stuffy bathroom.
I’ve never seen Elias drunk, but I assume this version of him is how it would be. The version that drinks me in like smooth liquor. But just as I think he’s going to rip off my dress and take me on this counter, Elias’s kiss lingers on my forehead for so long it’s almost as if he’s counting. Or admonishing himself.
He’s shaking his head when I look up at him. “What’s wrong?”
His breathing evens out. He tucks my hair behind my ear and helps me off the counter.
“You should get some sleep, Sage. I’m going to shower.” Elias doesn’t meet my eyes when he slips out of the perfectly good bathroom and heads to the one in the hall. A harsh truth spits in my face as I watch his retreat.
Elias Westbrook is the most gentle man I’ve ever known, but if he wanted to, he could tear my heart to pieces.
THIRTY-ONE
SAGE
WHAT DOES IT mean when your celibate fake boyfriend kisses you like he’d die if he didn’t? There’s no manual that can give me an answer, and Google isn’t proving as smart as it claims to be. I feel like I’ve been defeated in a game nobody told me I was playing. Elias’s celibacy has tossed me into a downward spiral almost as complicated as our fake relationship. I recall things I’ve said or done when he’s been close, and I shiver in horror. He probably laughs about all the times I’ve humiliated myself in front of him.
When I step out of the shower, I change into fresh clothes. The fabric of my sundress is flimsy and resembles cheap tissue, but it’s the only thing I own that’s not currently in the wash. Elias took my pile of dirty laundry this morning and ran a cycle. God, the man is pure evil.
When I’m running a comb through my tangled hair, I hear a hushed curse from the kitchen and rush down the hall, only to find Elias shaking out his hand.
“Are you okay?” I take his hand to inspect the burn, ignoring the current that shoots up my fingertips.
“It’s just a burn,” Elias says.
I lead him to the sink and hold his finger under the cold water. “Baking again?”
“Trying something new,” he says. “Do you like scones?”
“Never had one, but I’m sure anything you make, I’ll love.”
He’s still watching me when he turns off the tap and dries his hand on a kitchen towel.
My wet hair drips down my back, and every drop jerks me with the heavy awareness of my sizzling skin.
“You showered?” he asks.
A drop of water hits my neck, and I try not to flinch. “Mm-hmm.”
He cocks his head. “You seem a little on edge this morning. Are you feeling okay?”
Another drop. This time it slides down the side of my neck and trails down my collarbone. “Never been better.”
His gaze catches on the slow-moving droplets, and my body is electrified. The problem is, water and electricity don’t mix well. I quiver as something dark swims in his brown eyes.
“Take a picture, Elias. It’ll keep you occupied on your flight.”
“You think I’d need a picture to remember how you look right now?”
The silence is long and uncomfortable. I glance at the stove to read the time, realizing it’s only noon and he leaves in a few hours. The past few minutes already feel torturous—I’m not sure I can survive hours.
He steps right into my orbit, reaching for my dress. “What are you trying to accomplish here, Sage?”
The question makes me hot. Elias’s hand is big and strong and veiny, and I wouldn’t say a damn word if he yanked off my dress.
I tilt my head. “I’m trying to survive the heat.”
His eyes narrow. “The apartment has AC.”
Maybe I should have been more specific. I meant I needed to survive his heat.
“I run hot.”
“I’ve had your ice-cold feet on me almost every night.”
He’s goading me, but I refuse to fall into the trap. “Whatever it is you’re trying to make me say, it won’t work. I don’t have ulterior motives. Unlike you, I say what I want instead of talking in riddles.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I straighten, trying to appear taller even though he’s towering. “That you claim to be the most honest guy on the planet, but you can’t for one second admit you’re lying to yourself. And that’s probably the worst type of dishonesty there is.”
There’s a storm brewing on his face. “I’m not lying to anyone.”
I snort, rather unattractively. “Keep telling yourself that. But you’ve been celibate for so long because you’re punishing yourself for something you did years ago. You think this eases your conscience, but you’re only hurting yourself.”