completely jealous.
It hadn’t worked that way. The moment she’d seen Elliott, she wanted to smack him across that perfect mouth. Then shove him onto his knees and make him use that mouth on her. Then smack him again. Or better yet, have him smack her.
Instead, she’d walked away before she could give in to that desire. He didn’t deserve it. Or her. And she wasn’t going to lose her shit in front of him, not in public or in private.
Now here she was on the balcony, looking out over the cityscape and envying the view. She had a drink in one hand and a plate of hors d’oeuvres in the other. Booze, food, and a view. What more could a girl ask for?
Company, of course. And there he was. Elliott fucking Anderson, looking sharp and immaculate and delicious in a suit that made her want to climb him like a tree. He had a drink in each hand and he gave her one like he thought she’d actually take it.
So of course, she did. White wine, not her normal drink, but she put down the one she had and sipped the one he’d offered. She waited for him to say something. Anything. But instead he leaned on the railing and looked out across the buildings.
A hint of music wafted from the party inside. Simone sipped her wine and waited for someone to come out and interrupt them, but nobody did. She leaned on the railing, too, not touching him, but close enough that he could have taken her hand if he’d wanted to.
“I like you,” Elliott said finally. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
Simone sighed. “Ugh. Really? That’s what you lead with?”
He looked at her, his expression serious. “Would you like it better if I lied and told you I liked you when it wasn’t true?”
“I’d like it,” she said, “if you just said you liked me without any sort of qualifier.”
“Fair enough.”
She waited, but he didn’t say it. “I like you, too, Elliott, even though I don’t think I should. Because you’re kind of a dick.”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“That’s better.” Simone sipped her wine and looked out again at the city so she didn’t have to look at him. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said to me in my office that day.”
Simone swallowed hard, but kept her gaze on the buildings and the lights and the darkness, and anything except his face. It was her nature to run her mouth. She’d heard it often enough. From her mother. From Aidan. But now she waited to give him time to speak.
He didn’t. Not for long, long minutes. She could stop herself from making words, but she couldn’t stop her heart from beating faster. Or her breath from catching in her throat. All she could do was wait. And wait. And wait some more, until it drove her crazy.
“I do like it,” he said finally in a low voice.
Simone let out the breath she’d been holding. She closed her eyes, feeling the floor tilt underneath her. Too much wine. Not enough air. Her throat closed, any words she’d meant to say tucking themselves under her tongue and staying hidden behind her teeth.
“I like that you like it,” Elliott murmured. “I fucking love it, as a matter of fact. It makes me lose my fucking mind.”
She had a clue, now, why he was so against it. “And you don’t like that.”
“No. That’s insane. Who likes losing their mind?”
“‘We’re all mad here,’“ Simone said, quoting the Cheshire Cat.
She felt the weight of his gaze on her, and there was more silence until, at last, she turned to look at him. He moved a little closer and set his glass down on the small wrought-iron table near them. The clink of it on the metal was like the snap of teeth.
“You don’t mind being crazy,” Elliott said.
Irritated, because fuck, everything about him infuriated and aroused her, Simone swiveled to stare him down. “No. Actually, I don’t. Crazy is a state of mind usually interpreted by other people.”
“Nobody ever knows they’re crazy, is that what you’re
It hadn’t worked that way. The moment she’d seen Elliott, she wanted to smack him across that perfect mouth. Then shove him onto his knees and make him use that mouth on her. Then smack him again. Or better yet, have him smack her.
Instead, she’d walked away before she could give in to that desire. He didn’t deserve it. Or her. And she wasn’t going to lose her shit in front of him, not in public or in private.
Now here she was on the balcony, looking out over the cityscape and envying the view. She had a drink in one hand and a plate of hors d’oeuvres in the other. Booze, food, and a view. What more could a girl ask for?
Company, of course. And there he was. Elliott fucking Anderson, looking sharp and immaculate and delicious in a suit that made her want to climb him like a tree. He had a drink in each hand and he gave her one like he thought she’d actually take it.
So of course, she did. White wine, not her normal drink, but she put down the one she had and sipped the one he’d offered. She waited for him to say something. Anything. But instead he leaned on the railing and looked out across the buildings.
A hint of music wafted from the party inside. Simone sipped her wine and waited for someone to come out and interrupt them, but nobody did. She leaned on the railing, too, not touching him, but close enough that he could have taken her hand if he’d wanted to.
“I like you,” Elliott said finally. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
Simone sighed. “Ugh. Really? That’s what you lead with?”
He looked at her, his expression serious. “Would you like it better if I lied and told you I liked you when it wasn’t true?”
“I’d like it,” she said, “if you just said you liked me without any sort of qualifier.”
“Fair enough.”
She waited, but he didn’t say it. “I like you, too, Elliott, even though I don’t think I should. Because you’re kind of a dick.”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“That’s better.” Simone sipped her wine and looked out again at the city so she didn’t have to look at him. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said to me in my office that day.”
Simone swallowed hard, but kept her gaze on the buildings and the lights and the darkness, and anything except his face. It was her nature to run her mouth. She’d heard it often enough. From her mother. From Aidan. But now she waited to give him time to speak.
He didn’t. Not for long, long minutes. She could stop herself from making words, but she couldn’t stop her heart from beating faster. Or her breath from catching in her throat. All she could do was wait. And wait. And wait some more, until it drove her crazy.
“I do like it,” he said finally in a low voice.
Simone let out the breath she’d been holding. She closed her eyes, feeling the floor tilt underneath her. Too much wine. Not enough air. Her throat closed, any words she’d meant to say tucking themselves under her tongue and staying hidden behind her teeth.
“I like that you like it,” Elliott murmured. “I fucking love it, as a matter of fact. It makes me lose my fucking mind.”
She had a clue, now, why he was so against it. “And you don’t like that.”
“No. That’s insane. Who likes losing their mind?”
“‘We’re all mad here,’“ Simone said, quoting the Cheshire Cat.
She felt the weight of his gaze on her, and there was more silence until, at last, she turned to look at him. He moved a little closer and set his glass down on the small wrought-iron table near them. The clink of it on the metal was like the snap of teeth.
“You don’t mind being crazy,” Elliott said.
Irritated, because fuck, everything about him infuriated and aroused her, Simone swiveled to stare him down. “No. Actually, I don’t. Crazy is a state of mind usually interpreted by other people.”
“Nobody ever knows they’re crazy, is that what you’re
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