MILO’S POV
“Rule twelve,” I said, trying to sound like a serious adult and not a man whose entire nervous system was fried. “You don’t—”
Then it happened.
A hand — a warm, soft, absolutely disastrous hand — slid under the table…
…and landed on my thigh.
Not lightly.
Not politely.
Firm.
My voice broke in half.
My brain shut down.
My soul left my body.
“Elara,” I said slowly, turning toward her like a man walking into a fire. “Your hand. Move it.”
Did she move it?
NO.
Of course not.
She pressed harder. I felt her nails drag a little through the fabric of my suit pants.
A shock ran up my spine so fast I almost jumped.
“I’m not doing anything,” she said sweetly, like she wasn’t touching me in the most illegal way possible under a magnolia tree at 10 a.m.
“You’re doing everyth
