“So the issue is you think he’s hot and are still attracted to him and clearly he feels the same, but Aria gave you the off-limits chat and you feel guilty,” London surmises.
I shrug up a shoulder. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“Well, if you’re not going to date or screw him, ignore him. You don’t have to talk to him tonight. Oliver certainly won’t say anything or push the issue. Just pretend the hot, charming guy who made a move on you in front of an entire bar because he wanted you that badly isn’t here.”
“Thanks,” I grumble at Savannah’s taunting gleam, but plan on taking her advice all the same. Ignoring him is the best weapon in my arsenal. Especially since all my other weapons crumble to pitiful piles of dust the second they encounter him.
But the moment we leave the safety of the room, my body sparkles with life, and I don’t have to look to know it’s because Brecken’s eyes are on me. His sapphire gaze clings to my body in sweeping waves, suffusing the air with what is now a familiar crackling tension. Just as I lift a glass of wine to my lips and turn to talk to Halle and Margot, I already lose the fight.
The shocking intensity of his eyes rudely push against me, infiltrating me in no time flat. He’s alone, a gorgeous trick of the eyes that only I can see. A hand runs through his dark hair, his body leaning casually against the wall across the room as he boldly glares fire into me.
Yeah, he’s still pissed alright.
I swallow my sip of wine, nearly choking on it, and hating myself for reacting like this.
So I do what I do best. I switch it off. I look past him, just to the right, and then continue my perusal of the room and the guests with lazy boredom. Despite all that, my heart is thrashing violently in my chest and I find it nearly impossible to keep up with Margot and Halle as they discuss… hell, I don’t even know what they’re talking about.
All I know is that Brecken Davenport is baiting me.
Look at me, his stare demands. Chicken, it taunts when I don’t.
Aria wraps an arm around my waist, talking a blue streak about my house guests and how happy she is that they’re here. I must speak because none of my friends are so much as casting an odd look my way.
It goes on forever.
At least it feels that way.
Seconds turn to minutes, spin into hours. Mindless chitchat. All the while, I feel sick with nervous jitters. Like any second someone who shouldn’t is going to discover my secret and then what will I do? Or worse yet, I’ll cave and look at him. He’ll corner me somewhere if I do that. God, if he corners me, I’m done for.
I’ll kiss him for sure. The look in his eyes… yeah, I’ll definitely kiss him.
Suddenly I’m thrust into a seat on the end of one of the two long dining tables Aria and Wes have set up for all their guests. A plate of something that smells heavenly is set before me just as London’s words hit my ears.
“He’s staring at you.”
“I know. Quit looking.”
“I can try, but you do know how he’s staring at you, right?”
“With his eyes?” I smart.
She laughs and groans at the same time. “No, my love. He’s staring at you the way Miles first stared at me. Like he wants to strip you down naked and consume your body whole till you reach the peak of earth-shattering pleasure.”
“You’re not helping, London. You’re my friend. You’re supposed to be helping. Also, that was a bit of a TMI with you and Miles.”
“What can I say. It’s true. That man across the room with eyes only for you is a carnal beast. He is practically flinging dark and dirty promises your way.”
“Not helping,” I grit out. If anything, she’s making my blood pressure shoot through the roof, my panties wet at the imagery, and my mouth so dry I chug all the water in my glass.
“I am helping, Rina. There is no denying that look. Because while that look says he wants you. It also says he wants you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t believe me?” she challenges. “He might just be worth it after all. See for yourself.”
And I do because I can’t help it anymore.
And she’s right. The sensual heat in his eyes is unmistakable. But there’s more to it than that. Because the moment his angry, feral blue eyes meet mine, he smirks as if to say gotcha. And now that I did, I’m not letting go.
9
brecken
If I were the sort of guy who did happy dances when Friday came along, I would do one now. It’s been a week. A very long. A very long life-sucking week. And since it’s Friday and I don’t have to get up tomorrow at any particular time, my agenda for tonight is to get takeout, drop into my pajamas, open a bottle of expensive wine—possibly bourbon, because yeah—and watch some kick-ass action or mafia film.
Swinging bachelor life of a player, you say? You got it.
But it sounds a hell of a lot better than trying to go out and score with a woman I have zero interest in. A woman who will no doubt be a total disappointment to me since she isn’t Rina.
It’s been a week since she and I had breakfast together and she ran off, calling me a mistake and a regret. Seeing her the other evening at dinner and her blatantly attempting to ignore me all night only upped the ante instead of turning me off.
Just seeing her…
The way her dress hugged her curves. The way her normally straight hair had a hint of a wave to it. The way her eyes, those fucking green eyes of hers, had some kind of light shimmer on the lids. And don’t get me started on her lips. Red. Lips. Red lips that demanded my attention and my sanity. I gave it to her. Willingly.
My want has no end.
Not being able to talk to her or pursue her? It’s like a challenge I can’t quit in my head. Like when your mom says youcan’t have a cookie before dinner and all you want is that goddamn cookie because she told you you couldn’t have it.
Only I’ve had Rina once and it did zilch to get her out of my system or me over wanting her. If anything, my hunger for her has increased since laying eyes on her again.
“Hey Breck, got a sec?” Rich asks just as I sling my workbag over my shoulder. I don’t know when he became comfortable enough to call me Breck when I’ve only gone by Brecken in the office, but apparently he feels he’s there.
“Sure, what’s up?” I ask, stepping into his office while checking my phone to see if Wes has texted back about meeting at the gym tomorrow afternoon before tucking it into my pocket.
“Shut the door.”
I do, but I don’t sit. It’s already after six. I want to get the hell out of here.
“How was your first week?”
“Good,” I exclaim, trying to muster an enthusiasm I do not feel. “The team here has been welcoming. Really hardworking. It’s clear they put in the extra effort.” To be complete assholes, I don’t add.
I’ve already gotten three veiled threats from three different people.
No one is happy I’m here from the New York office. They all feel as though my appointment in Boston is to watch over them big brother style. Like their jobs are on the line and I have the final say. Which should make them kiss-asses if anything, but evidently that’s not how their egos operate.