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“I never thought it’d be my thing,” Steven was yammering, “but I’ll try anything once. Especially if you show me the ropes. Pun intended.”
Good one.
Steven was shifting his weight, leaning into her so that he could pull something out of his back pocket.
Riley stared in horror at the shiny object in his hand before looking up at his eh-not-bad face. “Handcuffs?”
“Portable ones.”
Was there any other kind?
“I know you probably have your own, but—”
Riley held up a finger to stop him. “What part of me not mixing business with pleasure went over your head? Just because I write about something for my job doesn’t mean I want it in my personal life.”
Steven pulled back. “Is this part of the routine? Acting like you don’t want it?”
“No!”
He grinned. “Whew. For a second I thought the legendary Riley McKenna was a bit frigid.”
There it was. Her breaking point.
She may not have known how this all worked, but she did know it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Why did it always end this way? Just once she wanted to be treated like a woman instead of some sort of novelty lay.
Riley’s Irish temper officially snapped.
“Get out.”
Steven frowned in confusion. “We’re there?”
“No, we’re stuck in traffic. But get out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Is this why you asked me out? Because you wanted to see if I lived up to my articles?”
“Oh, come on. It wasn’t just about that,” he said, holding out a placating hand. She slapped it away. “You know you’re hot.”
She conti
nued to stare at him, and he relented. “Okay, and it’s a little bit like bedding a Bond girl, you know? Bragging rights, baby.”
“No, I don’t know. I’m not your Bond girl,” she snapped, trying to push him closer to the door and out of her cab. “And I’m definitely not your baby.”
“Jesus, what’s your deal?”
The guy looked confused, and somehow that just made it all worse. He genuinely had no clue that beneath the sex expert lay Riley McKenna the person. Or maybe he did know, and he didn’t care.
She couldn’t even get that mad at him. After all, she wasn’t exactly dying to know the person beneath the boring brown hair and ugly Italian shoes either.
“Christ, if you treat all guys this way, I don’t know how you get any material for your slutty articles.”
Maybe she could get a little mad at him. Still, she refused to let her expression change. No way was she letting him know he’d hit her weak spot. She hadn’t revealed it to anybody, and she wasn’t going to start with a too-tall douche bag.
The taxi driver had figured out there was no budding romance in the backseat and had pulled over despite the traffic having started to move again.
“Out,” she said again.
