What the hell was that? Dude is, like, intense.

Those eyes. I’m still trying to figure out if Evan’s some kind of vampire or some shit, compelling me to do his will.

And you know what? If he is, sign me up. Take a fucking bite out of me. Please.

But not tonight.

I walk toward the elevator, replaying everything that just happened. And god, if I’m still going out, I’m totally going to have to change my panties now. Because Evan was right.

I’m totally fucking wet for him.

As I reach for the elevator button, I realize my hand is shaking.

I, Emilia Adams, am shaken up over a guy. What even?

I pride myself on never letting my guard down. All fun, all the time. The party girl.

The one you can count on for a good time, maybe for a good fuck, but who always has the upper hand.

But right now, I’m totally rattled by what just happened.

The only thing I know for certain is that I need to stay far, far away from this guy Evan.

And I also know, somehow, that it’s going to be impossible.

Not just because we live in the same building, either. But because I’m pretty damn sure I won’t be able to get him out of my head until I’ve satisfied my curiosity.

It will be on my terms, though. Not his.

I’m half-angry, half-turned on when I think about the way he oh-so-casually just assumed that all he had to do was flash that infuriatingly charming grin and say a few dirty things in that sexy, rumbling voice and I’d be putty in his hands.

Nope. Not this girl.

But fuck, I’m practically vibrating from his touch. Just the memory of how it felt to have his breath on my neck, his hard body beneath my hands has me whimpering out loud.

Jesus.

“Pull it together, Em,” I mutter to myself as the elevator chimes and the door whooshes open.

He’s not my type. At all. Yet, somehow, I feel like he’s everything I’ve been missing and didn’t even know.

But that’s ridiculous. Fanciful, even. I roll my eyes as I angrily punch the button for Erin’s floor.

Nope. Not going to do this. I’m going to go straight to Erin’s apartment and drag her ass out for a night on the town.

Just as the elevator door starts to slide closed, a tanned, muscled arm pushes back against it, and it opens up again.

I plaster a pleasant smile on my face, not wanting whomever this is to see me in this conflicted stated.

And…it’s him.

“Fuck me,” I mutter.

He grins, charming, dashing, debonair, all the bullshit words one would attribute to a guy like this.

“If you insist.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to try to pin me up against the wall of the elevator and do all the deliciously dirty things he promised in the lounge. He reaches his hand toward me. Then just stares at me expectantly, his fingers inches from my waist.

I give him the stink-eye. “What the fuck, dude?”

Evan clears his throat. “Um, just want to push the button for my floor.” He nods his head toward the row of buttons that I’m actually leaning against.

I shift to my right and my face burns as I realize that in my attempt to be casual, I happened to light up almost all of the buttons on the panel.

An amused smirk crosses his chiseled features.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long ride.”

I roll my eyes. Is he always like this with the innuendos?

I wonder briefly what floor he’s on, but don’t bother asking. If I’m pretending I’m not interested…err, I mean, if I’m not interested, no sense in giving off the impression I care.

“What do you do, Emilia?” he asks as the doors slide open at the next floor and neither of us get out.

Small talk, then. Okay, I can handle that.

“I’m a writer.”

He looks genuinely intrigued. “What kind of writer?” The doors close again.

“I write romance.” Then I wait. It’s inevitable.

Now, a salacious grin crosses those perfect lips. Lips which are still burning my hand from their touch.

“Like sexy romance?”

And there it is, folks.

Every. Fucking. Time.

I can’t tell anyone I’m a romance writer without them immediately thinking I write porn or some shit. I mean…I do like it hot. Naughty. Filthy, even.

But people don’t seem to see that it’s more than that.

At the heart of it, it’s about love.

Ironic, though, that I’ve never experienced that for myself.

“Yes, Evan,” I reply, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice. His smile is kind of contagious like that. “Sexy romance.”

I think he’s about to say something else, something stupid and immature like ‘Let me know if you need help with any research’ or some shit.

But instead, when the elevator stops at the next floor—my floor—and the doors slide open, Evan gives me a wink and a grin, and says, “This is me,” then steps off the elevator.

Just like that. Now I’m the one left hanging, wanting more? How did he flip the script on me so fast?

I’m torn. Do I get off here at my floor? Maybe find out which apartment is his?

Or do I keep it to myself that we’re closer neighbors than I realized and ride my ass on down to Erin’s floor?

The elevator makes the decision for me as the doors slide shut again.

But then I do something that shocks even me.

I jab the button to open the doors again, then step out of the elevator myself.

Fuck.

I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.

I know this guy is all wrong for me.

But at the same time, something about him screams oh-so-right.

It’s crazy. I don’t shy away from anything or anyone. But somehow, I instinctively know Evan isn’t just anyone.

He cocks an eyebrow at me, that arrogant smile gracing that perfect face of a god yet again.

“I thought you had plans.”

He says it tauntingly, like he’s testing me.

I tilt my head back and stare him dead in the eye. Challenge accepted.

“Something better just came up.”

Game on.