Read Online Entice (Hearts of Stone #2) by Veronica Larsen - Free Book Online
Authors: Veronica Larsen
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tension.
"Do I look embarrassed?"
My body goes still as he leans toward me, reaching past my side to press the call button. The subtle scent of his cologne takes me by surprise. It's crisp and clean.
He straightens again, sliding his hands into his pockets and watching me, waiting for my response.
"I imagine it must sting," I muse. "I wouldn't blame you if you're a little embarrassed."
Owen eyes my lips for a beat before answering. "I'm sorry? Am I supposed to enjoy talking about you as much as you enjoy talking about yourself?"
I let out a low whistle. "Wow, you're really holding a grudge, aren't you?" The elevator chimes and the doors open in front of us. "Why is that? Got burn marks on your palms from beating off to me every night?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Owen says. "It wasn't every night."
He holds out a hand toward the open doors in a gesture of ladies first , ignoring the way I cock an eyebrow in surprise at his words.
I get onto the elevator, and as I turn to watch him press the button for the lobby, my hands closing over the bar on the wall behind me, I'm distinctly aware of the shift happening between us. It's like there's a sudden crack of familiarity in his otherwise impassive wall.
Usually, people are visibly taken off guard by the things I say. It's something I enjoy. But the way Owen lets my antics bounce right off of him, and leaves me scrambling for a comeback, is surprisingly fun.
"Glad we got that out of the way," I say, as the doors close again. "Confession is good for the soul. You should really let it all out, though. I mean, since we're here and everything—"
In two fluid steps, he's standing in front of me. And though it's not an aggressive proximity, it's deliberately close enough so I have nowhere to look but into his eyes. He stretches out his arm, laying his palm flat against the wall behind me, and every pore on my skin seems hyper-aware of how close his arm comes to my side.
"What do you want to hear, Emily?" His gravelly voice is low and serious as sin. My lips part and my face tilts upward, both on their own accord. "You want me to tell you that I wanted you? That you were all I could think about? That I spent two years trying to find a way to tell you? Tell me, is that what you want to hear?"
I almost nod but manage to remain still, refusing to take his bait. Because it's clear now. He's holding something over my head. Taunting me with some unspoken strife. Keeping us stiff and formal even while a tangible attraction spins in the air between us.
The elevator comes to a stop. He watches me in the seconds before the doors open. "That was a long time ago," he says.
"Then you shouldn't be thinking about it," I respond, just as evenly.
His hesitation is so subtle I almost miss it. It's not until he gets off the elevator that I realize how close he really stood in front of me, and the empty space around my body feels exaggerated. I forget to move, my back against the wall as though held in place by his words, long after they've disbanded into the air. Except they are no longer questions, they are statements, loud and clear.
I wanted you. You were all I could think about.
I spent two years trying to find a way to tell you.
CHAPTER TEN
Never go underwear shopping while horny. That's a lesson I never thought I'd need. Everything I buy is suspiciously lace and see-through. Not sure who my subconscious is planning on banging, since the only guy I've got my eye on seems to hate me because he couldn't screw me in high school. Ah, petty first-world problems.
When I return to the condo, I devote the rest of the day to my job search. Though I've barely moved from the dining room table all afternoon, my energy seeps from me anyway. Job hunting is exhausting. Trying to not appear desperate for work is exhausting. Wording your resume to make yourself sound incredibly awesome is…well, that part I always enjoy.
I'm proud of my resume. It paints the picture of
"Do I look embarrassed?"
My body goes still as he leans toward me, reaching past my side to press the call button. The subtle scent of his cologne takes me by surprise. It's crisp and clean.
He straightens again, sliding his hands into his pockets and watching me, waiting for my response.
"I imagine it must sting," I muse. "I wouldn't blame you if you're a little embarrassed."
Owen eyes my lips for a beat before answering. "I'm sorry? Am I supposed to enjoy talking about you as much as you enjoy talking about yourself?"
I let out a low whistle. "Wow, you're really holding a grudge, aren't you?" The elevator chimes and the doors open in front of us. "Why is that? Got burn marks on your palms from beating off to me every night?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Owen says. "It wasn't every night."
He holds out a hand toward the open doors in a gesture of ladies first , ignoring the way I cock an eyebrow in surprise at his words.
I get onto the elevator, and as I turn to watch him press the button for the lobby, my hands closing over the bar on the wall behind me, I'm distinctly aware of the shift happening between us. It's like there's a sudden crack of familiarity in his otherwise impassive wall.
Usually, people are visibly taken off guard by the things I say. It's something I enjoy. But the way Owen lets my antics bounce right off of him, and leaves me scrambling for a comeback, is surprisingly fun.
"Glad we got that out of the way," I say, as the doors close again. "Confession is good for the soul. You should really let it all out, though. I mean, since we're here and everything—"
In two fluid steps, he's standing in front of me. And though it's not an aggressive proximity, it's deliberately close enough so I have nowhere to look but into his eyes. He stretches out his arm, laying his palm flat against the wall behind me, and every pore on my skin seems hyper-aware of how close his arm comes to my side.
"What do you want to hear, Emily?" His gravelly voice is low and serious as sin. My lips part and my face tilts upward, both on their own accord. "You want me to tell you that I wanted you? That you were all I could think about? That I spent two years trying to find a way to tell you? Tell me, is that what you want to hear?"
I almost nod but manage to remain still, refusing to take his bait. Because it's clear now. He's holding something over my head. Taunting me with some unspoken strife. Keeping us stiff and formal even while a tangible attraction spins in the air between us.
The elevator comes to a stop. He watches me in the seconds before the doors open. "That was a long time ago," he says.
"Then you shouldn't be thinking about it," I respond, just as evenly.
His hesitation is so subtle I almost miss it. It's not until he gets off the elevator that I realize how close he really stood in front of me, and the empty space around my body feels exaggerated. I forget to move, my back against the wall as though held in place by his words, long after they've disbanded into the air. Except they are no longer questions, they are statements, loud and clear.
I wanted you. You were all I could think about.
I spent two years trying to find a way to tell you.
CHAPTER TEN
Never go underwear shopping while horny. That's a lesson I never thought I'd need. Everything I buy is suspiciously lace and see-through. Not sure who my subconscious is planning on banging, since the only guy I've got my eye on seems to hate me because he couldn't screw me in high school. Ah, petty first-world problems.
When I return to the condo, I devote the rest of the day to my job search. Though I've barely moved from the dining room table all afternoon, my energy seeps from me anyway. Job hunting is exhausting. Trying to not appear desperate for work is exhausting. Wording your resume to make yourself sound incredibly awesome is…well, that part I always enjoy.
I'm proud of my resume. It paints the picture of
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