“How convenient for you.” Apparently, my desire to challenge him wins out over my good sense to leave. “Not a very level playing field, is it?”
He hums thoughtfully. “Ms. Hart,” he says, slowly drawing out my name and exposing that hint of a southern drawl still lingering from his upbringing in Georgia and his glory days playing for the Cowboys. “I’m afraid you’d be mistaken if you thought this field had ever beenlevel.”
Breathing deeply to calm my nerves, both from the way he infuriates me and the way I want nothing more than to lean into him, I pull in a hit of his scent and nearly moan. He smells too damn good to be real. Sharply masculine with a hint of musk and… something citrusy.
My pulse skips a beat and I find myself leaning forward greedily for another hit.
Of coursehe smells incredible, why wouldn’t he? Couldn’t the universe throw me a bone and make him smell like fish heads or something equally repellant?
“How long are you in town?”
I blink. “What?” My brain catches up to his question and I add, “I fly out tomorrow. Why?”
“Come to dinner with me tonight.”
I scoff. “This again?”
Max’s depthless brown eyes twinkle with mirth. “If you mean me asking you on a date? Yeah, Ms. Hart,this again. I don’t give up on what I want.”
Narrowing my eyes, I try to take a step backwards, but the door of the conference room is at my back, sandwiching me between a wall of solid glass and unrelenting Maxwell Cruz.
Shaking my head, I say, “No, Mr. Cruz, the answer, as always, is no. I do not want to have dinner with you. I don’t want to interact with you more than I have to, if we’re being honest.”
Liar.
“Are we?”
I huff. “Are we what?”
He runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and my stupid, traitorous eyes lock in on the movement. “Being honest.”
My gaze flicks back up to his eyes.Excuse me?“Yes, Mr. Cruz.”
“And yet…” His eyes flick back and forth between mine. “Your pupils dilate when you look at me. Do you know what that means?”
Clenching my jaw, I consider my response. “Contemplating murder turns me on?”
Max grins, releasing those devastating dimples. “Perhaps.” His eyes drift downward, catching on my lips. “Your lips are slightly parted, and every time I glance at them, your tongue darts out to wet them. What might that indicate?”
He focuses on my mouth and it takes every ounce of my self-control to keep my tongue from doing exactly what he just suggested.
His eyes rise to meet mine once more.
I swallow hard, pressing my lips together so I’m not tempted to lick them. “Maybe they’re dry. It is Texas. In September.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you like when I look at them.” He does so now, eyes dark enough to send a thrill of nervous anticipationskittering through my veins. “Maybe you wish I’d stop talking and lean in to taste them for myself.”
I suck in a breath.
His eyes drift lower. “That flush of red on your neck. You could tell me it’s anger, but I think we both know a lie when we hear one.” He lifts his hand, then pauses just inches away from my throat. “May I?”
“Hm?”
“Touch you.”
My response is a breathless “yes.”
Mayday! Mayday!
