"No, thanks," I say, letting my head thunk back against the wall. How did I even end up here? Oh, right, because he's a bully. And I'm just dumb enough to want him anyway.
His mouth comes back to mine. "God, you're so fucking stubborn," he mutters, sounding almost proud before he bites my bottom lip hard enough to sting.
"It's called self-respect."
"No, it's called running scared." He steps back finally, but not before he lets his hands trail down my arms, his rough fingers lingering at my wrists. "I got too close, and it scared the hell out of you."
"In your dreams."
"You have no idea what I dream, baby," he practically purrs.
I cross my arms, hoping it hides the way I shiver, because I think maybe I do know. And if his dreams are anything likemine, I might be in serious trouble here. But every drop of snow on every mountain in the world will melt before I tell him that.
"I didn't mean it the way they printed it, Sophie. You know me better than that."
"Do I, Harlan?" I ask. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like I know you at all. You sound like every other man who has smiled in my face and then insulted me behind my back. I'm not playing that game with you. Find someone else."
"To hell with that," he growls, his eyes narrowed on my face. "I've never insulted you. What they printed isn't what I said, at least not all of it."
"But you did say it."
"Not the way it was printed. Unblock me."
"No."
He growls at me, actually growls. And damn him, but that sound shoots straight to my clit. "Fine," he says, his eyes glittering with something dangerous. "Then let's make a wager."
I'm not falling for this. I'mnot.
"What wager?"
Dammit.
"If you beat me down the mountain tomorrow, I'll do anything you want. Anything at all, Sophie."
"Anything?"
"Anything," he growls. "Even if it's giving you space for the rest of the weekend."
For some reason, I don't believe him. "And if you win?"
His gaze runs down my body, his eyes hot and wild. "You unblock me. You stop running and go out with me. We do whateverIwant."
My first instinct is to tell him to go to hell, but something twists in my chest at the thought of backing down. It feels too much like losing, and I've never been very good at that.
Did they really take what he said out of context? Maybe. That is what they do. But I'm not sure there is a context that makes his words any less of an insult, either.
"You scared?" he taunts, his voice soft.
Dammit.
"Fine," I say, jabbing a finger at his chest. "But if you even think about cheating, I will break your kneecaps, Captain."
He leans down until his mouth hovers at my ear again. "That's what I love about you, baby. You're all bite."
"Whatever." I shove against his chest again, refusing to melt at the thought of him loving anything about me. They're just words. They don't mean anything. "Let me go, you Neanderthal."
He grins and steps back with his hands up like he's surrendering. "See you on the slopes, ballerina."
