“And that one?” he adds, nodding toward the polished Audi. “Smooth. Controlled. Looks innocent enough until you push the gas.” His body shifts, pressing into mine. “Just like a certain kitten I know,” he breathes into my ear, his hand settling at my waist as he leads me to the last vehicle. Wetness pools at my center, and I muffle a moan, pushing my ass against his crotch.Worth groans in response, turning me around and pressing me against the car, successfully trapping me in between him and the large SUV. Hiding us in plain sight.
His expert hands travel up my thighs. “Fuck. I love when you wear skirts and dresses around me, like a filthy little tease.” I gasp and my body tenses.
“This is the one,” he decides, eyes settling on the Range Rover behind me. “It’s spacious. Solid. You could fit your whole life in there if you needed to.” His lips close enough now that I feel the warmth of his words against my mouth, “and safe, because I need to know you’re protected.”
He leans closer, as if about to kiss me and my breath hitches. Just as soon, he pulls away. The loss is abrupt and unfair.
I huff in protest, heat still throbbing beneath my skin, my body desperate for what my brain knows I shouldn’t want.
Even though I know it’s better for us not to engage in anything sexual, deep down, I still wish Worth would use his expert hands to make me come.
We’ve been dancing around the tension like it might bite if we get too close. It’s almost as if something opened between us, but also built a higher wall neither of us has dared to climb. Maybe because we’re both afraid of what is waiting on the other side. Of how far we’d fall if we let ourselves step over it.
At least, that’s why I haven’t.
But to say I don’t crave him would be a lie. Every brush of his hand, every look that lasts a moment too long, chips away at whatever’s left of my restraint.
I try to avert my gaze, shame and want wiring violently inside me. I know this is the right decision. I know stopping is smarter.
It doesn’t stop the ugly sting of disappointment.
Worth pinches my chin between two fingers, bringing my eyes back to his. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t shut down.”
“All of this is a bad idea, Worth,” I whisper. “We keep saying we’ll respect the lines and then we end up here again.”
His face falls. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
Worth takes a step back. He drags a hand through his hair, as if he’s just as frustrated and he hates that he can’t do a damn thing about it.
He walks toward the far end of the garage and retrieves a set of keys. Then presses them into my palm.
I’m still leaning against the Range Rover, trying to wrap my head around my conflicting feelings but coming up short.
Worth leans over and kisses my forehead.
“Get home safe, Mya.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, not trusting myself to look at him. “Okay.”
I climb into the SUV, fingers trembling on the steering wheel. Then, I drive away.
30
MYA
It’s been weeks and my face is still on gossip sites.
Today’s headline screams at me in bold letters:BLUE COLLAR BILLIONAIRE’S NEW ARM CANDY: WHO’S THIS MYSTERY WOMAN?
There’s a photo of me and Worth at the gala, his hand at my waist, his mouth tilted in that smug almost-smile that makes women swoon. Except the focus isn’t on him. It’s on me—my dress, my hair, my nervous smile.
I scroll, stomach sinking as words blur together. Some tabloids speculate about my background. Others pick apart the dress I wore. A few wonder if I’m just another notch in Worth Miller’s expensive belt.
My cheeks flame. I want to slam my laptop shut, but I can’t stop reading.
An unfamiliar voice makes me freeze.
“You can’t stop me! I’m going in.”