Redesigning Fate (Revive #1) - A. M. Wilson Page 0,16

I can sneak out before he gets here. I push the thought aside to deal with later and shift the flowers off to the side of my desk.

Michelle is keeping me equally busy throughout the afternoon as she had in the morning, leaving me no time to plot my grand escape from the building without Elias noticing me. As five o’clock ticks closer, my palms sweat and wiping them on my skirt proves to be futile.

There isn’t another way out, and I hate confrontation. Avoid it with every fiber of my being. Sighing, I grab my bag, slip by Michelle’s open office door to say goodbye, and meander to the elevator.

Before I can press the down button, the doors open revealing a delicious looking Elias, decked out in black dress pants and a gray button down shirt, the top two buttons undone revealing a sprinkling of blonde hair. The sleeves, once again, are rolled to his elbows. His signature look, I’m noticing. My mouth waters at the sight of him. He catches me staring and flashes me an irresistible grin. I am a melted puddle on the floor.

“I came up here to find you. I was fairly confident you’d show, but it’s ten after five, and well, you weren’t there. I couldn’t let you sneak away from me… again.” His voice sounds teasing, but his eyes register something deeper—hurt, vulnerability, anger possibly; I’m not exactly sure.

“Uh, yeah. Look, I’m not so sure about going out with you tonight.” My eyes are burning holes in the floor; I can’t meet his gaze. He reaches out and runs the backs of his fingers along my cheek, brushing away a wayward hair, sliding his hand beneath my chin and grasping gently, lifting my eyes to his.

“And can you tell me why not? By the way you’re glaring at the floor, I’d say I upset you, but I don’t know how that’s possible.” His voice is tender. Commanding, yet gentle.

“It’s not your fault.” I pause, struggling to find the right words that don’t make me sound so weak. “I-I’m just not,” I turn my head away “I’m messed up and full of baggage. Shit. That guy from the club was my ex-boyfriend. He hurt me.” His eyes noticeably darken. “And I can already tell by how I feel around you that you’d be dangerous territory for me too. So that’s why I can’t go out with you. Not tonight and not in the future.”

Smooth, fucking smooth. So much for not sounding weak. I duck around him, dashing into the open elevator. Before the doors shut, he slams his arm into the shrinking gap, halting their momentum. They bounce back, retreating into their spaces. It seems to take an eternity watching the gap grow larger before he’s there, glaring down at me and forcing his way into the car.

Suddenly, the elevator is much too small. He advances, driving me into the wall behind me. His arms come up around my head, caging me in, and I shrink against the wall like a skittish animal. I stutter a breath, my lungs failing to expand as if my brain forgot how to breathe. Instead of the fear I should feel, considering my past with a dangerous man, I’m overcome with desire. His nearness, his smell, his tone, all coalesce into a raging inferno of lust. To the contrary, I find myself soothed by his proximity.

“Don’t. Run. From. Me.,” he growls, his face inches from mine, blue eyes flashing heat and lust.

At his insistence, I lose my restraint, quickly forgetting all reason about why I couldn’t go out with him. His words are fucking hot. What was I saying about dangerous territory?

My arms come up like a marionette, fingers weaving into those gorgeous long blonde locks, tangling, pulling his head down to mine, lips mashing together in a heated passion.

A low rumble escapes from his chest as he deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping out, and demanding access into my mouth.

I open for him, letting him taste me, tasting him with my own tongue, flicking and licking, sliding into his mouth. The air ripples with electricity, heat rising slowly throughout my body.

The elevator dings, and he abruptly pulls away, weaving his fingers with mine. “I’m not finished with you yet. Not even close.” The hunger in his voice is unmistakable.

It takes remarkable restraint to slow my breathing; however, there’s no hiding the telling flush of my cheeks. My intuition is flashing in my head like a neon sign.