Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(55)

For a minute there, I’m convinced she’s gonna make a move. Something that I’ve only seen, to date that is, in the movies.

Not that I haven’t considered it once or twice.

I’m not gonna lie. The knee against my dick is a smooth move. Not too aggressive, not too passive.

“That’s the second time tonight you’ve put your body a little too close to mine, Green.”

“Too close?” she asks innocently. Almost na?ve. It makes me wonder if she’s a good liar after all. But then she backs away with a teasing grin. I notice the side eyeing, though.

“You can stop eying my dick, Green. It’s not gonna bite you. Much.”

She lets out a nervous kinda laugh. “I wasn’t staring at your dick. You have something on your crotch. It’s virtually impossible not to stare at it.”

I look down, then over at her. “Good one.”

She snorts. “You’re not even my type, Stiles. Sorry.” She says it with what I have to assume is supposed to be some kind of a blow off attitude and a slight wave of her hand.

Still avoiding eye contact, however.

“I’m everybody’s type.” I laugh because I’m nobody’s type, which, inevitably is everybody’s type.

Jesus, this elevator is slow.

“Not mine,” she insists. The smartphone is her friend. It distracts her from having to confront me. But not for long.

“Really.”

“Yes. Really.”

Oh, it’s on.

We’ll call this scenario payback.

“So if I backed you into a corner, for example.” I do it. Not unlike the way she just pinned me, only slightly more, you know, engaged. She looks surprised and nearly trips over her own feet until she finds one of the elevator walls to use for support.

The smartphone? Forgotten.

“And trapped you there.” I put my arms up on each side of her so she can’t escape me. I don’t need a f*cking wall of buttons to use as an excuse either.

I lean into one ear and breathe in the perfume she used today. Or maybe it’s lotion. I don’t know. Either way, I nuzzle my nose into her neck to get a better whiff, fully forgetting about the fact that she’s taken. My lips are close to her skin. So close I can see the goosebumps as they form.

She shivers and it does things to me I wouldn’t have expected.

I lower my voice. It’s not purposeful. I’m suddenly more into this than I originally thought, is all. “And I muttered dirty, dirty things into your ear.” A few choice words cross my mind.

Take your clothes off.

Take my clothes off.

Let me touch you.

She tries to keep her stare hardened, but I’m attuned to her reactions.

The way she swallows down the nerves. How she takes a shaky breath. Nothing compares to the way her legs rub up against each other or how her chest heaves up against me as I wait for her to say something.

I mentioned I’m an excellent reader of body language, right?

I whisper next to her ear. “Would I still not be your type?” I can’t help wonder. “Or maybe you prefer a polo shirt and khakis.”

I pull back to look her in the eyes. They’ll tell me everything I want to know. Every damn time.

She f*cking hates khakis.

When Green peers into my eyes, I see it. The want. The need. The incredible amount of self-restraint she has that keeps her from acting on her instincts in this cramped ass space.

I should feel victorious right now. Like I just taught the vixen a lesson on how not to use sex as a weapon on men she barely knows. I should leave her high and dry and be done with it.

The only problem is, I feel it too.

The urge to put my mouth on hers. Let our tongues touch. To take that f*cking jacket off her so I can slide a hand up under her blouse and feel the heat of her skin.

Her brow dips quickly, then resumes position. Like she’s confused as to why I’ve stopped.

Why have I stopped?

“You—”

The doors open and an exhausted-looking woman gets on with us as she yawns. Green pushes me off her and composes herself. Or tries to. The woman gives me a look, and I wink at her, insinuating she’s next in line if she’s interested. It deters the staring, and at the next floor, Green nudges me to let me know we’re where we need to be.

She steps out first and rubs at the back of her neck.

“Tense?” I don’t get to do much harassing. Green slows to a halt and smacks me in the arm.

“Shut up, Stiles. This is him.” She points to a door not two feet away, and she knocks before she walks in.

“Hey, Ken.” She takes a deep breath and it’s shaky when she lets it out.

Not her type. Bullshit.

The man behind the desk swings his chair around. “Hey, if it isn’t my favorite reporter. What’s up, Em?”

Em?

He can’t get a little more creative than that?

And P.S., I’m pretty sure she was f*cking with me when she described him. There’s no hard ass demeanor in this guy. No flirtatious banter from Green. And definitely no sign of the cunning hacker office I might have been expecting to see. Just a slightly overweight junk food junkie with too many toys in reference to superheroes for an adult to have.

They laugh at each other's stupid jokes for a few minutes before getting down to business. As that happens, I step into Ken’s view from the other side of his three gigantic monitors. That’s when his expression turns serious.