…RILEY…
*****
His father droned on about profit margins and disloyal executives. I flexed my foot, sliding my bare sole up the fine wool of his slacks, tracing the hard muscle of his calf. I felt him shudder. A quiet, almost imperceptible reaction. But I saw it. I felt it.
His leg twitched, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.
I pushed higher, my instep rubbing along his shin. The fabric was smooth, expensive. I imagined the heat of his skin just beneath it. His grip on his fork tightened until I thought the metal might bend.
Cassidy prattled on about the wine, as the rest of the family continued their conversations, completely oblivious to the war—and the seduction—being waged beneath their noses.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was even more dangerous than the fitting room
