When my beat-up car comes into view, I stop short, recognizing the dark figure leaning against the driver’s side door, one ankle crossed in front of the other with his hands in his pockets. Yup. I’d recognize those broad shoulders covered in Armani anywhere.
At least he isn’t a serial killer, right?
Forcing my feet to work, I head toward Henry Buchanan, despite the fresh wave of embarrassment rolling over me. I tug the strap of my camera bag further onto my shoulder while digging into the front pocket for my keys.
This is awkward.
I want to know if he heard me last night. I want to know if he was on the phone or if my moans are hidden in a copious amount of voicemails he’s never bothered to listen to. I doubt a man this uptight would leave a single one unanswered for more than three minutes.
Which is just great for me.
The real question is, why the hell is he waiting for me at my car?
What if he fires me?
Sure, Erika could’ve done it for him when she called earlier this morning, but still. Maybe he wants to do the deed himself.
What if he lectures me about appropriate behavior between colleagues? Hell, we aren’t even colleagues. He’s my boss. My boss’s boss. My boss’s boss’s boss? Honestly, I don’t even know the hierarchy, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I crossed a line, and we both know it.
But he crossed it first.
He shouldn’t have tried to kiss me.
He shouldn’t have slipped his head beneath the covers in Creekside.
He shouldn’t have made me come harder than any of my previous partners.
Yup. This is his fault.
All. His. Fault.
He’s the one who got the ball rolling. Who sparked my imagination. Who made me curious.
The familiar click of the doors unlocking is barely heard over the buzzing in my ears as what if’s and finger-pointing wreak havoc on my sanity. Henry lifts his head, and his eyes meet mine.
Man, he’s beautiful. Dangerous. But beautiful.
The danger should remind me why I need to stay away, but it only draws me in more.
“Can I help you?” I ask, feigning confidence.
“Why did you reject me at the bar, then call me so I could hear you say my name when you came on your fingers?” he demands.
Wow.
So he did answer the call.
I knew the guy was blunt, but did he really just lay it all out there like this?
What am I thinking? He’s Henry Buchanan.
Of course, he did.
24
MIA
“Why did you reject me at the bar, then call me so I could hear you say my name when you came on your fingers?”
Regret swells in my stomach as I replay Henry’s comment, unsure what to do or say in this moment. Not when he’s looking at me like this. Cold. Detached. And…determined? Yup. Determination is the underlying emotion in those dark eyes. He wants answers. And I have a feeling he won’t let me off the hook until I give them to him.
Clearing my throat––and rejecting Buchanan’s opportunity to catch me off guard––I challenge, “Who says I wasn’t using a toy? Ya know, if I hypothetically owned one.”
“I didn’t hear any vibrating last night.” He shrugs his broad shoulders and shifts to face me fully. “Tell me why you turned away.”
“From the kiss?” I question.
His chin dips.
“We agreed our little hotel adventure was a one-time thing. Kissing you in SeaBird would’ve made it a two-time thing. And a two-time thing feels a hell of a lot like dating. And dating? Well, as I’ve stated before, I’m not interested in dating anyone.”
“Only finger fucking yourself while imagining it’s me.” He pushes away from my car and strides closer to me. The confidence in every freaking footstep makes my heart rate thrum faster and faster. My attraction to the bastard is practically driving me insane.
When he reaches me, the toes of his loafers nearly touch the front of my sneakers. It’s a stark reminder of the different worlds we come from. I tilt my head up and ask, “Are you always this direct?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.” His fingertips brush against my forehead, following my hairline and tucking a few strands behind my ear. A shiver of anticipation races down my spine, but I don’t move an inch.
“Do you want to know a secret, Mia?” he whispers.
I stay still, drowning in his scent as my tongue darts out between my lips. I blame the man in front of me. It seems he has a habit of making all logic evaporate into thin air anytime he’s around.
“I might have given you a preview of how hard I can make you come while we were in Creekside, but whatever fantasy you created up here?” He taps the side of my temple with his forefinger. “It doesn’t remotely compare to the real thing.”
My attention drops to his lips. I lean away from his touch, but I don’t back away. Not fully. Honestly, I’m not sure if I can.
“Someone’s cocky,” I note.
“Confident,” he clarifies. “Do you want to know another secret?”
Ignoring the warm caress of his breath against my cheeks, I suck my bottom lip into my mouth before forcing out, “What?”
“I’m glad you rejected me in the breakroom.”
The sharpness of his words makes me flinch, and I step around him, heading to the driver’s side door as I grasp my keys in my shaking hands. “I didn’t––”
“You did. But don’t worry.” I swear I hear a smirk in his voice. “Hearing you say my name as you came last night took the sting away.” He follows me back to the car and steps even closer, causing my stomach to press against the door as he cages me in. “Despite my best efforts, you’ve piqued my curiosity, Mia.”
I twist around to face him. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m pretty boring.”
“Go on a date with me.”
“You just got out of a relationship,” I remind him.
“I’m aware.” His molars grind, but he forces his jaw to relax. “While the timing may not be perfect, when I find something I want––”
“Something?”
“Someone,” he corrects. His fingers skate along my arm and brush against my wrist, reminding me exactly what it feels like to have them inside me. “Go out with me.”
“I’m not interested.”
“You sounded interested last night.”
“I was interested in coming, not dating,” I argue.
“So, you can fantasize about me, but I’m not allowed to buy you dinner?”
“Nope.”
His fingers flex around my wrist. “I like you, Mia. And despite your words, I think you like me too.”
I lift my chin and take in the shadows striking against his sharp features from the light post above us. This man is dangerous. You can feel the power radiating off of him. He’s like a shark. The way he moves. So smooth, yet predatory too. Like you know he could strike at any second, ripping you apart with a single bite, and it would happen so fast, you wouldn’t even see it coming. I want to touch him. To study him. To push him to see what happens. To see if he bites. Even when it’s a bad idea. Even when we both know he could tear me to shreds in an instant.