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“Ever hear of an Ambien?”
“It’s not that kind of insomnia.”
His voice drops deep and rough. It sounds raw, the way it might if we were alone together. Between my thighs is pulsing his name in Morse code; not a good sign if I’m trying to keep my dignity.
I turn, uncaring that I’m in boy shorts and a T-shirt. I know he can see the underside of my ass. Deep inside, I hope it gets his dick hard and frustrated. The air between us is already wearing thin from all the friction and tension. It’s about time I start thinking about what he’s packing.
“What kind is it?”
He tilts his head. “The kind you get from fixing everybody’s problems all the time.”
“Oh, poor thing. Aren’t you like a multi-millionaire?”
He laughs softly. It’s hard to keep my eyes on his face when the trail of hair comes up from his waistband and tapers off just below his navel. I’ll bet he’s packing beneath that zipper. Men like him either go one way or the other. The evil side of my brain, which doesn’t care if I blow up my life or cause a scene, makes me want to cross the room and see whether he’ll show me. I’ve done that before, and it actually worked.
“You got me,” he says finally.
“I got you how?” I frown.
He pauses, jaw working. “You always talk back like that?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know what you’re doing, sweetheart,” he says.
The tension in the room changes. Are we in dangerous territory?
How did we get here so fast? It doesn’t feel like we’ve known each other before now, but it does feel like we’ve been fighting for ages. Or, at least a few days. My eyes narrow the more I stare him down. It would not be out of character for me to fuck him. Well, it wouldn’t be out of character for me to take off my top and let him put my nipples in his mouth or maybe slide his hand into my panties. Letting him go all the way… I’m less familiar with that.
“I said, you always this mean? Prickly don’t cut it.”
“I’m not mean,” I insist.
“You are right now,” he drawls. “That’s saying something. I spend all my time in boardrooms, listening to lawyers go at it.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay then. I’m gonna go upstairs now.”
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and walk past him. His hand closes on my elbow. I whip around, and my throat goes dry.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
His throat bobs. Maybe I don’t really want him to let me go.
“You got a lot of frustration,” he says, lids heavy over those unreadable eyes. “Want me to work that out for you?”
My brows shoot up. I didn’t think he’d actually make a move.
“That’s bold,” I whisper.
He leans in, and I don’t lean back. His mouth grazes mine, and heat tingles like static in my brain.
That’s it, that’s all it takes.
His big hands wrap around my thighs and I’m off the ground and in his arms. Oh God, he’s enormous. Not just height-wise, but everything. I think one of his fingers is as wide as two of mine. I make a note to compare them later. Then, his mouth finds mine in the dark, and I inhale, gasping when his tongue grazes my lower lip.
I’m about to have a pivotal experience. Someday, I’ll be able to say I made out with Jamie Iron, agent for Coen Taylor and all those other country stars. I won’t have to mention the part where he annoyed the fuck out of me from the moment we met to the moment he lifted me into his arms. Then, annoyance gives way to pure lust, and my brain shuts off.
He’ll be gone in a few days.
