Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(5)

Polly heard a familiar set of footsteps coming down the basement stairs and ordered her features to look bored. She leaned against the wall and studied her nails, even as her heart started to thud. Austin. No one else moved like him, with unhurried steps that were somehow crisp at the same time. Each footfall had meaning, a purpose. She hated having his walk memorized, but there it was. She would hear the handsome con coming from a mile away in a monsoon. He carried awareness with him, foisting it on everyone in his path, daring them not to acknowledge how truly shit-hot he was. Insufferable man. False modesty wasn’t in his repertoire, either, Polly lamented as Austin waltzed into the room, shaking raindrops from his rich brown hair.

“Ms. Banks.” He made a savoring noise in his throat, dragging his gaze from the tips of her boots upward. “Should I assume from your punctuality that you were hoping to clock some alone time with me? I usually only take scheduled appointments, but you’re always the exception.”

She knew better than to take the bait. Another facet of Austin she had memorized was his sexual gravity. Step off the ledge when he challenged you with innuendo and, well, splat. There was no way to compete with innate charisma like he’d been blessed with. Dammit. “I had no idea you would arrive first. I assumed it would be Connor.” Their resident ex-SEAL, who insisted on neat edges and precise plans, was usually fuming by the time all six members showed up. “If I’d known, I would have killed some time in Starbucks.”

“Connor used to arrive first,” Austin said, sauntering toward her. “Until I realized it got under his skin when I do instead. So here I am.” He ran a hand over his sculpted mouth, his attention locked on the base of her neck. “And here you are.”

The hard wall against her back felt more like a trap the closer he came. “You go to such lengths to get under people’s skin, but you can’t get under mine.” She tilted her head. “That must drive you crazy, Shaw.”

“You. Are the only thing that drives me crazy.” The tips of his shoes bumped hers, sending a bolt of energy straight up her limbs. “And you damn well know it.”

Okay. This was the confusing part. Every so often—like just then, for instance—she swore the constant bullshit exterior Austin wore like armor…dropped. Allowing her what she might classify as a brief glimpse at the real man underneath the disguises, accents, and charm. The operative term being might. If she were a total moron. Thankfully, Polly knew that the hints of vulnerability that shone through were manufactured. Part of the Austin Shaw Show. There wasn’t a hope in hell she would fall victim to a liar, the way her fathers had. The way Austin expected her to.

Unfortunately, whenever Austin got this close, a humming started approximately three inches south of her belly button. That humming was only temporary, though, because it eventually turned into a twist….a churn. While her brain registered Austin’s inability to feel real human emotions such as compassion or regret, her body was turned on by those same drawbacks. If she let him, he’d give her sweaty, feverish sex without any of the pillow talk or round two possibilities. But no. No. If she let him get to her, physically or otherwise, he would win the standoff they had going on. A standoff she refused to concede.

When Austin’s belt buckle nudged her belly, Polly swallowed a whimper. “If I drive you crazy, then why won’t you back off?”

“If I thought that’s what you wanted, I might.” His eyelids drooped, his breath feathering the hair on her crown. He was so close, she could taste his dark, cultured scent. Honey and spice. Poison disguised as temptation. “Just one go-round, Polly. I need your body.”

Good Lord. “No.”

“Your pride is getting in the way of my sanity.” He laid his hands high above her on the wall, eased close so he could speak just beside her ear. Move, Polly commanded herself, but no dice. His thigh muscles chafed her smoother ones, his ripped-up stomach cradling breasts that strained toward him. Traitors. He was sinful male and bad intention in one seriously disarming package. Her feet wouldn’t move for all the tea in China. “Mmmm.” Austin sucked in a slow breath. “There goes the rest of it. Farewell, sanity.” He exhaled into her hair. “Even though you continually torture me, I brought you a gift.”

She managed to shake her head. “I don’t want it.”

He only pressed closer. “Yes, you do.” His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair. “A few weeks ago, I realized I’d never seen you drink coffee during the meetings. Only tea. Then you stopped. Now your hands don’t know what to do with themselves without being wrapped around a mug.” Her interest sufficiently piqued, Polly lifted her chin and met his eyes. Big mistake. Those stupid silver flecks were all but glowing as he spoke. “I realized you must have run out. So I sorted through the rubbish and found out the brand—”

“You can’t get Fullings’ verbena mint in Chicago. I looked.” She narrowed her gaze as he crowded closer, flattening her against the wall. “The specialty places I order from online are all back-ordered.”

“A mere mortal couldn’t get it, maybe. But we’re talking about me.” Austin knew better than to kiss her, but he appeared to be considering it. Dampening his lips by rolling them inward, eyeing her mouth like a predator. Polly’s right hand bunched, ready to swing, but he kept speaking instead of leaning in that final inch. “They’re back-ordered because I bought all of them out. I’ve a single packet in my right front pocket, same as there will be every day.”