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“No? I seem to remember you getting me out of my towel.”
“You—I mean, that wasn’t my fault…” I feel myself blushing. How does he do it? He’s so arrogant, but so damn charming at the same time. I hate feeling so flustered around him. Get it together, you have to keep the upper hand...if not for yourself then for Chad.
He shrugs and purses his sweet, pretty lips. “It’s okay. I kind of liked how your eyes devoured me when I was naked. If you want me to shed my suit, no need to hit me; just ask.”
“Oh my God, full of yourself much?” I roll my eyes and shake my head. On the outside, I try to remain unmoved. On the inside, I’m a bundle of guilt and wanton urges. I decide to focus on the guilt and thus am unable to keep my apology at bay any longer. “Again, I really am sorry for hurting you. I feel terrible about it.”
He looks to me with something stirring in his eyes.
“Yeah?” Suddenly, he presses the stop button and the elevator jerks as we come to a sudden halt. “I know how you can make it up to me.”
“What are you doing?” I swallow a nervous lump in my throat.
“Showing you how you can make it up to me. You ever heard of seven minutes in heaven?”
“No,” I lie.
He looks at me chidingly but plays along. “It’s a stupid game where teenagers throw two hornballs into a closet together and lock their asses up for seven minutes with the goal of sexual fireworks exploding. Usually all that happens is awkward breathing, and then everyone lies and says they hit whatever base they think sounds cool.”
“We’re not twelve,” I feel the need to point out, but I can’t discern if he’s being serious or not.
“And something tells me I won’t need seven minutes to hit all your bases.” He bites his lower lip. Sweet Jesus, why do I find this—why do I find him—so damn sexy right now? “I only need sixty seconds to make you scream.”
I just about melt into the damn floor, feeling as if my entire being could turn into a pile of goo. This is not who I am. I am a strong, independent woman and I will not melt for anyone.
My guard goes up. “You can’t handle me,” I say, trying to sound strong. I cannot show him that he’s getting to me. I glare at him, hoping he’s buying the act.
He takes a measured step toward me. His eyes lock with mine. My mind flashes to his naked body. His rock hard—with rippling abs and that sexy vee that most men can’t achieve—body.
“There’s only one way to find out,” he whispers into my ear, causing my entire body to tingle with anticipation.
Damn, he called my bluff. He leans a little closer. His wonderful scent hits me.
And I melt. For a moment, I forget where I am or who I'm with. I forget about Chad. Instead, I remember how Hunter looked naked. How he swelled while I was looking at him.
I remember my needs, needs I've been neglecting for far too long.
Before I know it, I’m trembling and breathing hard, and I actually tilt my head back and close my eyes in preparation for his kiss. I can no longer fight my attraction to him, and with him so close, it was only a matter of time anyway.
My eyes pop open when he bursts out laughing. “I’m just fucking with you.”
I’m not proud of what happens next. It’s instinct or more likely the fact that I’m horrified that I fell for his game. I’m itching to slap him but somehow I control that tendency and…
* * *
“I don’t have much of an appetite,” he grumbles as we walk down the busy early sidewalk. He rubs his ear, which I squeezed quite hard moments before, and glances at me with a frown. “You really ought to see someone about your anger issues.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” I reply. Despite the fact that I pinched his ear like some curmudgeonly aunt, I can’t help but feel he’s laying it on a little thick. Still, he might be right. I have been so angry lately. Angry at my dad. Angry at myself for my fears about Chad. Even angry at Chad, which makes no sense. When I feel the sting of unshed tears, I blink quickly.
Then I recognize the man and woman walking toward us.
“Shit,” I exclaim and try to duck for cover, but it’s too late.
In front of me, Taylor Ballard smirks, and my heart sinks.
Hunter glances at me and then at Taylor, and when he looks back at me, understanding seems to light his eyes. He throws one arm around my neck and pulls me in close, holding me safe and secure as we pace closer and closer to my ex and his new wife. Just as we’re about to pass them, Hunter plants a soft kiss against the side of my head, and I let out a forced grin of happiness. When Taylor’s wife looks at Hunter admiringly, I feel my grin become more genuine.
Taylor frowns and then just as soon as he appeared, he’s gone. I’m met with equal parts relief and sadness, relief because at least that douchebag will mistakenly believe I’m happy, and sadness because I’m obviously still bothered by the breakup—or rather, the reason for the breakup—no matter how long ago it was.
