Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) by Amber Scott Page A

away.
    Brooke opened her eyes. She could hardly
think.
    He swallowed. “I want you.”
    A small ache jolted to life between her legs.
She wanted him, too. Bad. Shamelessly. The realization sent her a
step back. She couldn’t.
    Elliott’s hands tugged at her hips. He shook
his head. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry. But, please, don’t go. Not like
this.”
    The ramifications of what she’d just done, of
what she allowed him to do, of where they were and who he was,
rammed through her mind, penetrating her haze.
    Brooke put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t
do this.”
    “No,” Elliott said. “Don’t say that. Just
close your eyes. I promise. I won’t ask anything of you.” He moved
closer, his eyes charming the fear snaking through her. “Stay.”
    He leaned in and his scent, his heat, teased
her senses. He made her thirst for more. One more taste. A small
interior voice urged her to try it. What harm could a little bit
more really cause? When had a man ever made her knees go weak? She
deserved weak knees. Wet, hot kisses.
    She needed them.
    Brooke let him tug her closer. She shut her
eyes. Elliott’s mouth met hers, sweet at first, then urgent, and
pleading. Her hands dug into his clothes, her hips sought his. He
felt so good. So hard, muscular. So good.
    Her mind designed the flesh beneath her hands
as she traced his contours. Not enough. She needed skin. She tugged
at the hem of his shirt. Elliott groaned.
    “God,” he whispered. His tongue licked magic
over her collarbone. His hands cradled her waist, her neck. “You
taste so good.”
    Brooke whimpered. Her nipples peaked, aching
for touch. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her. She wrapped
her legs around him as he positioned their bodies onto a nest of
papers. Her need thrummed harder. Moisture sprang between her
thighs.
    Elliott cupped her face. His body stilled
above hers, inches from answering what her limbs begged for. His
touch. “We have to stop,” he said.
    Heaviness gathered back into her chest.
“Stop?”
    Elliott nodded. Emotion shone in his eyes. “I
want you. Make no mistake about that.”
    Then why stop? She couldn’t ask, though. She
wouldn’t make more of a fool of herself over him. Not when she knew
how rash she was being even coming to this office, let alone
clawing his body like a sex kitten.
    Her surroundings slipped back into focus.
Elliott helped her to her feet. She ignored how wobbly her legs
were. Had she been ready to give herself to him right there on
Shope’s desk?
    She should be thanking him, really. Good
sturdy common sense had plainly exited her brain. If not for his
clear head, they might be naked, limbs entangled for anyone to walk
in on. No, wait, he had locked the door.
    Still. “I should go.”
    He took her hand, kissed it. “When can I see
you?”
    The weight in her chest lifted. “I don’t
think you can. I’m not sure we should be doing this.”
    He cocked his head. “Yes you are.”
    She opened her mouth to protest. He brought
her wrist to his lips and licked the sensitive flesh there,
effectively shutting her up. She didn’t know what she could have
said. An unstoppable prayer formed inside of her. Please, it said.
Him, this, yes. Please. His lips caressed her skin, his fingers
entwined hers.
    “If I give you my number, will you call
me?”
    Brooke jogged her chin up and down, willing
her eyes not to close. His breath tickled.
    “When?” he asked.
    She half shrugged.
    His mouth left her wrist. He pulled her to
him. “You deserve better than a desk. Unrushed.”
    “Tonight?” A twinge flipped her belly.
    The click of high heels approached. Elliott
swiftly moved for the door, unlocking it. He opened it in time for
Michelle to arrive, petulant frown and all.
    A stiff farewell was all they had left,
leaving Brooke feeling more than a bit befuddled on her drive home.
Over and again she asked herself, had she fantasized it all?
    Another glance at seven digits scribbled on a
scrap of paper was all the