AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Then again, it wasn’t my money, so if I was able to get out of here before I could finish drinking it, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“Shall we sit down?” Adrian motioned to an empty table with two chairs a couple feet away from the bar.
“Let’s.” The word escaped through my gritted teeth. It went against my desire to flee, but hey. If it meant I had a vantage point away from the bartender, I’d take it.
I took the first seat, the one with the better view. He stiffened. His beer clinked against the table when he put it down so he could move his chair. It was only a few inches closer to me, but closer was closer, and if you asked me, we’d already had enough closeness tonight.
“Non-virgin, huh?”
“I’m surprised you let me.” I took the tiniest sip of my drink, refusing to look at him.
“I thought better than to argue with a lady so obviously on her period.”
“Not on my period.”
“Doesn’t PMS come first?”
“Stupid questions can come before murder.”
He laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. “Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
I angled myself away from him slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You can’t blame me for your anger because you can’t get it up.”
“I can get it up.”
“Your temper or your cock?”
“If you carry on, you’ll see both by the end of the night.”
I jerked my head around to him. “You’re crossing the lines, Adrian. Stop it.”
Holding his hands up, he bowed his head. “Sorry. Looks like you bring out the worst in me, baby.”
“Looks like you’re determined to have my stiletto pierce your ballsac with that stupid little endearment.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Is this why the Fox family is feared?”
“That’s because my father and brother are assholes beyond comprehension. You wouldn’t believe we’re related if you ever met them.”
“We’ve met.” His tone was dry. “You have to know that.”
I sipped my drink again. “Can we talk about something else? Like how inappropriate you’re being tonight?”
Silence.
Then, “We could, but if you’re the one wearing that dress,” escaped his mouth.
If eyes were daggers, my stare would have sliced two sharp knives through his head. “I’m not responsible for the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Adrian Potter. You are. I can wear whatever I like, and should be able to without being subjected to your shit.”
His eyes softened, but only a little. “You’re right. Doesn’t change the fact you look damn good, though.”
“I know.” My lips curved. “I didn’t pick my wardrobe in my sleep.”
His gaze darted downward before he recovered and looked at me again. “Is our fake relationship still in disarray?”
“It’s on the rocks. PMS does that to a woman’s thought process.”
“That’ll do.” Gripping the back of my chair, he tugged hard. A squeal escaped my mouth as my chair knocked into his and our bodies came perilously close to touching.
Instead of grabbing me, he simply laid his arm over the back of my seat. The only part of me he touched was my hair, but that didn’t stop the sharpness with which I inhaled at the move.
The ends of my hair tickled against his bare lower arm. He twitched when I moved my head, and I swallowed to dispel the tiny lump that had formed in my throat and seemed to be stuck there.
A light pop reached my ears when he drunk from his bottle. “Have you looked yet?”
“I’ve been too busy fighting with someone,” was my reply.
His light chuckles shook his whole body. I wasn’t looking at him, and he was barely touching me, but still, I knew. There was something in the way my chair vibrated at the movement of his own. In the way each laughing breath shuddered out of him as the main amusement petered off.
I was damned. Barely there, that laugh sent a shudder down my spine that was only just fightable. Any stronger and I would have been helpless to the way it’d affected me.
Not that I wasn’t already. The after-effects of something so simple and stupid were astounding—the goosebumps tickling my lower arms were itchy and unwanted.
“I’ll be quiet.” Adrian stretched his fingers to touch my collarbone and pushed me back. “Look like you want to be here with me.”
“I’m a prostitute, not an actress.”
“Ever faked an orgasm?”
“More than you’ve ever had real ones.”
He laughed again. “Then apply that same logic.”
“I would, but then I’m afraid you might believe I want to be here.”
He sat forward, still laughing, and tucked my hair behind my ear. From behind, his breath was hotter. His fingers lingered at the curve where my neck met my shoulder, rough and heavy against my skin.
“I promise, no matter how well you act, I will never believe you actually want to be with me.” He paused. “Does that help?”
