Page 26

We continue walking in silence until we reach the bar, where I signal the bartender for a couple drinks.

“Sorry for all that.” I gesture with my drink before taking a sip of the fruity house concoction.

“I’m perfectly capable of caring for myself,” she snaps, downing hers and closing her eyes tightly. “I don’t need to be pissed on like a bloody tree.”

Giving her this moment to collect herself, I study her face. A little worry line appears right between her perfectly sculpted brows, and I want to kiss it away.

“Shit! That’s tart.” Her face screws up as she sets her empty glass on the bar, signaling for another.

Unable to contain myself, I laugh, which earns me a smack to the chest. I notice her hand remains, and my heart beat rages just beneath the surface. As if she can feel it, she pulls it away. Now it’s me who’s downing my drink and ordering another.

“Sorry I was bitch before.”

“Which time?” I joke, referencing our little run in this morning.

“Cheeky,” she replies.

“You weren’t, either time. Look, I get it. I’m sure you can handle yourself, but I couldn’t stand to see him all over you. I didn’t know what else to do. I figured wounding his pride would send him back to his hole to lick his wounds for a bit and at least buy you some time. I wasn’t intending on hiking a leg or anything.”

“Thanks, for rescuing me, and for being honest.” Honest. My stomach sinks. If she only knew.

“You’re welcome. You can return the favor if the hula twins suddenly show up,” I tease her, trying to remember I have a job to do.

“Deal.” Scarlett raises her glass to mine, and they clink on an unspoken toast. “But what’s wrong with the hula twins? They look like Hawaiian goddesses! What man wouldn’t want that?”

“I’m really more into blondes.” I wink at her.

“Oh really?” She snorts. Her face looks horrified as she brings her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Well, yes. It’s nothing to snort at,” I tease again, which earns me another smack, but this time, her hand doesn’t linger.

“I’m have a very particular type,” I whisper as I take the stool next to where she’s standing and place a leg on either side of her. She leans a little closer to hear me over the noise of the party. “I prefer long silvery blonde hair,” I lean in, taking a deep breath, “that smells like sugar and spice.”

Her eyes widen, but she stays where she is as I continue. “I’m drawn to mysterious, indigo eyes that look almost purple in the right light.” Her pulse jumps in her neck.

“I adore heart shaped lips, pouting out in defiance…they are my absolute favorite.” My gaze drops to her mouth, which parts to form a perfect “O”. “The type of cheeky little lips that need a nip from time to time.” My own tongue reaches out and licks my bottom lip in preparation.

She’s so close, our breath mingles, and I fight the urge to pull her to me. I remind myself we are in a front of nearly a hundred of her colleagues. The last thing I want to do is add more rumors to the scintillating pile of rubbish.

Someone bumps her, and she leans forward, her mouth grazing mine before she puts her hands on my shoulders to steady herself, and I grab her hips in my palms.

The electricity from the simple brush of her lips has me growing hard, and her own desire glows in her eyes like a fire. Hot and flickering.

In this position, we’re eye to eye. Our gazes latched, our breathing heavy. I know I’m treading into dangerous territory here, but I can’t pull away. I can’t stop. I might be playing a game with her, but everything I’m saying is true. I want her. And that want is bordering on need, with every moment I spend with her.

She looks away, and the moment is lost. “Sounds interesting.” She swallows and steps back.

“I think so,” I reply, never taking my eyes from her. We both sip our refills.

“How about you? Do you have a type?” I ask, trying to keep the playful conversation, but she pales. Pain flashes in her eyes before she blinks it away. Of course. How stupid of me. “Tall, dark, and dangerous is a little overrated these days,” I mumble and look away.

We take a breather and observe the party in silence, until the bell chimes for dinner.

“Well, it was nice meeting you…uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” She looks embarrassed.

“It’s Cohen. Cohen James,” I reply, offering her my hand.

“Wait, how did you know my name?” she questions, eyeing me skeptically.