Manipulative Attraction

32. ⚛️ Danse Macabre

"Jeannie," Thorne murmured against her lips as she trembled in his arms.

"You two. Take it inside!" The judge called from his open window. He banged it shut a second later.

Thorne laughed. A low, gruff sound that was rusty from disuse. Green eyes held caramel for a moment as they both registered the hunger within. Thorne tore his gaze away from Jeannie to gather her dropped articles. He took her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. His long legs ate up the distance to the entrance. Up the steps. Down the dark hallway.

He tapped his foot impatiently as Jeannie dug in her bag's innards for her keys. Pulling them out, her hand shook with nervous anticipation. The keys fell in a flash of silver. Thorne's reflexes sprang into action, scooping them up before they hit the floor. He fit the key in the hole and turned the handle, opening the door wide.

He was on Jeannie the second they entered, pressing her against the wood as their bodies shut the door with a bang. Jeannie's shoulder dug into the door while the knob indented her backside.

Thorne lowered his head. His lips brushed hers, once, twice, before his tongue entered her mouth for a soul-searing kiss. Jeannie matched his movements, fisting the cloth of his shirt between her hands. She pulled him closer, leaving no air between them.

There they remained, tongues twining, mouths sucking, hands roaming to places they had only dreamed about. Gently at first and then with more and more intensity until they both had to come up for air.

Their ragged breathing rang out in the apartment's stillness. Staring into each other's eyes, they marveled at the depth of feeling the other displayed.

Thorne was about to lower his head for more kisses when his phone buzzed in his back pocket, breaking the spell.

He squeezed in a light peck on Jeannie's lips before reaching around to retrieve his phone. He moved from Jeannie to settle on the couch. Crossing an ankle over his knee, he put the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Quentin," Thorne said in greeting, his smile lighting up the room.

He is calm, she noted.

His chest barely rose and fell while she panted like a galloping horse. Her mouth creased into a frown. Thorne's quick recovery proved the kiss didn't affect him like it did her. While Thorne talked to his subordinate, Jeannie seized the opportunity to slip into the kitchen. She took a glass from the cupboard and opened the tap, letting the cold water fill it to the rim. As she gulped down the liquid, she prayed it would cool her ardor as it did her throat.

Thorne came in as she was refilling her glass for the second time. He leaned against the door and placed his cell on the countertop. "Quentin told me to tell you 'hey.'"

Jeannie nodded, avoiding his eyes. She set the glass in the sink and moved past him.

"What would you like for dinner?" Jeannie said over her shoulder as she rooted inside the bowels of the refrigerator. "Pepper Steak or Chicken Cordon bleu?"

Thorne wanted Jeannie in his arms—damn the food—but he let her have her way.

For the time being.

"Which one is easiest?" he asked.

"Pepper steak."

Thorne noted her clipped tone, and his heart lurched. The coolness in the room had nothing to do with the Artic air coming from the open fridge. Jeannie's demeanor had dropped to fifty degrees below zero since he'd answered his phone.

Was she angry?

Thorne was afraid to ask. He didn't want her to send him away. He knew he wouldn't recover if she did. The kiss they shared outside wasn't just a kiss, it was a brand sealing her to him. A reckoning for whoever cared to take notice.