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I kiss him again. Harder.

Maybe that's my answer.

Maybe I don't have words anymore.

He backs me across the room without breaking the kiss. I don't even realize where we're going until my shoulders meet the wall.

“Mitchell—”

His mouth finds my jaw.

My neck.

His lips drag over the sensitive skin beneath my ear, and I shiver so hard he makes a low, satisfied sound against me.

Then those clever hands find the fastenings of my gown.

One deft movement.

Another.

And suddenly the dress Elle spent an hour fitting perfectly to my body loosens.

Emerald silk whispers over my skin before spilling to the floor in a shimmering pool around my feet.

Just like that, I'm standing in front of Mitchell Knight with considerably less between us. Just a sheer thong and nothing else.

My breath catches.

Every touch sends another shiver racing over my skin, but this one is different.

Because his mouth stills. And Mitchell looks at me.

Really fucking looks at me.

Heat follows the slow path of those icy blue eyes, and somehow being seen by him feels even more intimate than being touched.

“Jesus Christ, Layla.”

The reverence in his voice does something dangerous to my heart. I swallow.

“Good Jesus Christ or bad Jesus Christ?”

His gaze snaps back to mine. Then that devastating mouth curves.

“Firecracker, there is nothing bad about what I'm looking at.”

Oh.

Well.

There go the butterflies again.

“You have any idea what you've done to me tonight?”

I can barely breathe.

“No.”