Neanderthal by Avery Flynn

Chapter Twenty

Kinsey

Kinsey was going to hell in a very tiny, very scratchy, very uncomfortable handbasket, and she was taking Todd with her.

Making up a fiancé had made sense at the time.

Now, when she was in this way-too-small-for-comfort elevator with Griff, still feeling the weight of his hand on the small of her back and her lips still tingling from that shoulda-been-but-wasn’t kiss?

It. Made. No. Sense. At. All.

But here she was. Standing next to a guy who growled as a form of communication, looked like he could be a tattooed Captain America body double—especially the butt, oh my God, his butt—and had Bruce Banner’s brain. It was too much. She was in sensory overload. Even worse, the horny part of her brain would not keep its shit together.

She couldn’t even look over at Griff as the elevator climbed its way to the penthouse level because every time she did, she imagined running her fingertips over the line of buttons on his shirt, slipping each one free. She’d like to imagine she’d have the control to go slowly, revealing his colorful, muscled chest one leisurely inch at a time. A kiss here. A flick of her tongue against his warm skin there. Spreading his shirt wide and running her palms over the broad expanse of him and kissing her way down as she went to work unbuttoning his pants.

In reality—not that this was ever going to happen—there wouldn’t be any slow-mo speed at all. It would be lust tingled with desperation sending buttons flying across the elevator, pinging against the walls with the force of her need to get him naked right the fuck now.

Whew.

Okay.

Deep breaths, Kinsey. In and out. There you go. You can breathe the horny away.

Ha. Yeah right. Keep dreaming.

“Are you all right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your breathing.”

Oh. God. She was more obvious than neon at midnight. “I’m fine.” He lifted an eyebrow, and she kinda melted a little at his nonverbal communication skills. Fine. A lot. She melted like the ice cubes in a glass of sweet tea left out on the porch in August. “Really. I’m perfectly okay.”

“Your cheeks are pink, and you’ve got a splash of color right here.” He reached out and touched a fingertip to that spot at the base of her throat right above the notch in her collarbone.

Kinsey couldn’t breathe and, for the first time in her life, she wasn’t even thinking one step ahead, let alone her usual three.

Griff’s intense gaze went from her eyes to her parted lips. He took a step forward. She didn’t have anywhere to go in the elevator even if she wanted to. He slid his finger from her throat to the scoop neck of her dress, tracing the line of fabric as if he were trying to memorize every thread.

“Kinsey,” he said, her name coming out all rough and hungry.

She would have answered if she could. Instead, all she could do was stand there, her entire body electrified with need and want and a building ache that only Griff could ease. His eyes lifted to hers again. Lust, hot and heady, steamed through her as he pinned her with a look that held so much dark promise, she wasn’t sure she’d make it another minute.

Griff lowered his hand as he dipped his head, then took her hand—her left hand. She knew the second he touched her fake engagement ring. It was as if something snapped and the whole moment changed in a heartbeat. Guilt flashed in his eyes as he let out a harsh breath before dropping her hand and taking a step back.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned so he was facing the elevator doors, tension emanating from him strong enough that it could have acted like a force field.

“Sorry,” he said, low and angry.

Damn it. Damn it all right to the bottom of Meemaw’s nonfunctioning water well.

Meemaw had warned her the whole fake engagement would come back to bite her in the ass. Kinsey’s overly confident response at the time was that she was always three steps ahead so not to worry about it. Well, she sure wasn’t in front of the eight ball now, because it had just run her over and left her flatter than her hair after three days of not washing it. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to tell him that there was no Todd, but she couldn’t. The only way she could get her last fling with a lie to work was to make sure that no one in the small-and-still-gossips-a-lot cosmetics industry let slip her secret shame.

The elevator dinged a second before the doors slid open. Without hesitating, Griff strode out, his long legs eating up the distance to his apartment door at a quick pace.

“Good night, Kinsey,” he said without looking back as he unlocked his door and then disappeared inside.

She barely managed a “good night” in return before he closed the door behind him.

How in the world she made it through her front door, down the hall, and to her room without collapsing, she had no idea. However, as soon as she closed the door behind her, she flopped facedown onto the mattress and let out a tormented groan, because the one thing she hadn’t planned on when she’d made up Todd was meeting Griff Beckett.

Now what in the world was she going to do?