“Oh really? How do you figure?” I snap.
“Because, thanks to my son’s fiancée, you are their wedding planner, which means we will be around each other. It would be nice if you weren’t a big grump the entire time!” he snaps back.
“I amnota grump,” I say, standing as tall as I can, but it doesn’t make me any bigger. It only pushes us closer together, pressing my chest against his. My nipples are brushing against his abs, and it’s not exactly doing me any favors right now. Not as far as winning this argument goes, anyway.
“You are a grump,” he repeats. “With a capital G.”
“Is that so?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, you know what I think about that?” I ask.
“I don’t really care,” he says.
“I think you are all charm and no action,” I say, and he laughs. “Better to be a grump with a capital G than a charmer with a capital C.”
“If I’m that bad, then why did you sleep with me?” he asks.
“Because that’s what a charmer does. They take advantage?—”
“Take advantage?” He laughs again, rolling his head back. “Says the poorly dressed girl who approachedmeat the bar practically begging to get laid. We had chemistry, and you know it.”
“I don’t believe in chemistry,” I tell him.
“Doesn’t make it any less real,” he says, shaking his head.
God. How is he so attractive? The man is simply shaking his head, and I can’t stop staring at him. Not at his flawless jawline. Not at his dramatic eyebrows. Not at the flecks of gray in his hair.
Charlotte! Focus!
“Well, I regret it,” I say once I am capable of words.
“Really?” he asks with a smirk. Meanwhile, his eyes are wild. “Both times?”
“I only slept with you once,” I say.
“Yes, but you screamed twice,” he says. “I can make you do it again.”
“Oh, you think so?” I ask, knowing full well it would be a mistake.
Gavin steps forward and presses me back against the car. His hard body right against the front of my body.
“What do you think you are doing?” I demand.
“What does it matter?” he asks. “There’s no chemistry between us. It’s not real, remember?”
He’s making me eat my own words. And meanwhile, the thing of his that is very much real is rubbing against the part of me that is trying to ignore him and failing.
“Gavin, I swear to God.”
“You believe in God?” he cuts me off, pressing harder. “God, but not chemistry. Yet here you are, sweating, breathing heavily, lips parted, nipples hard.”
“That’s not chemistry,” I quiver stubbornly.
“No? Is it attraction?”
