But my thighs quivered.
“Or, more accurately, fuck you after that dress hit my bedroom floor,” he amended. “Though, the way you looked in that dress, I might not have been able to wait that long.”
Ugh!
This man!
“So it’s back to games, is it?” I asked.
“I don’t play games.”
“Could have fooled me,” I shot back.
He dipped his face so close, the tip of his nose nearly brushed mine.
“Hear me, Vivi,” he whispered, and him using my nickname for the first time, coupled with him being so close I could smell his musky, woodsy cologne, regrettably at that juncture, all of that did a number on me. “I. Am. Not. Playing. Games.”
What the hell did that mean?
“Fitzgibbons will be back with your drink by now,” he said after he leaned away. “Shall we return?”
To hell with the fact he was my host.
“You’re kind of a dick,” I shared.
“You aren’t the first woman to say that to me.”
I fake gasped. “Color me shocked, Your Grace.”
And then I was against a wall.
And Battle was against me.
I struggled to breathe, from sheer shock at how he’d backed me to a wall, its swiftness and its ease, and damn him, also from his sexy proximity.
“What do you call me?” he asked silkily.
“Battle,” I whispered.
Because…
Seriously?
What would you do?
His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Precisely.”
Oh God.
What was happening?
“Now, shall we return?” he inquired.
“Leave me out of it,” I repeated.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Try hard to make that your bestest best,” I warned.
