He went still.
Rachel’s heart stopped beating on the suspicion that she had finally managed to rouse the sleeping tiger she’d always fancied lurked within his big chest.
Sometimes—usually when she was least expecting it—Elliot Wills could take on a certain quality that made her think of dangerous animals. This was one of those times, and her biggest problem was that she liked it—it excited her.
‘How old are you?’ he asked.
He knew exactly how old she was.
‘Twenty-three until midnight,’ she told him anyway.
He nodded his wet head. ‘That accounts for it.’
This was blatant baiting, Rachel recognised, and foolishly took it. ‘Accounts for what?’
‘The annoyingly adolescent desire to insult and shock.’
He was so right, but oh, it hurt. Why had she willingly let herself fall into that? Ra
