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His hands settle firmly on my hips, and my pulse immediately kicks into overdrive.
“Mitchell—”
“You think I haven't noticed exactly how much woman I'm dealing with?”
My mouth falls open. His gaze drifts deliberately over me before returning to my face.
“I noticed the first fucking night.”
Every last butterfly in my stomach takes flight.
“And I've been thinking about getting my hands on you ever since.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
“So if you're worried about the wall…” His mouth curves into that wicked, arrogant smile I've quickly learned means trouble. “Don't be. I got you.”
There isn't an ounce of hesitation in him.
No careful reassurance. No pity.
Just Mitchell looking at me like my curves aren't something he has to accommodate.
They're something he fucking wants. And apparently, the insecure little voice in my head doesn't know what to do with that.
The competitive one does.
I lift my chin.
“You sound awfully confident, Mr. Knight.”
His eyes flare at the challenge.
“Careful, Firecracker.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm starting to think you want me to prove it.”
Maybe I do.
Actually…
I definitely fucking do.
His hands settle firmly on my hips. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Nothing but want.
Desire. Desperation. Need.
“You think I can't handle you?”
“Mitchell—”
He moves closer until his forehead touches mine.
“You think I've spent this entire fucking night trying not to drag you out of that gala because there's one single thing about this body I don't want?”
My breath catches. His gaze holds mine.
