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I lean against the door, gripping the wood as if it will steady me against the torrent of salacious thoughts that invade my mind. “I don’t think I will. But if you’re lost I can point you in the direction of the exit.”
He laughs, the smirk twisting into a genuine smile. “You’re quite the spitfire, aren’t you?”
It takes me off guard, the way he says it with something almost like admiration. This time when I repeat my question, my voice is a little warier. “Why are you here, Finn?”
“Are we on a first-name basis now? Good, I was tiring of the informalities.” He actually winks at me as he pushes off the door frame and breezes by me as if I actually invited him in.
I stare at his broad back, my jaw dropping to the floor at his nerve. He thinks he can just walk right in and make himself at home? I revise my earlier opinion. Cocky and arrogant don’t even begin to cut it. Finn has an ego the size of the five boroughs combined.
He walks toward the table where I was working on my campaign, and I hurry to shut the door and race over in front of him. I insert myself in between him and the table, spreading my arms wide and leaning back against the table, clutching the edges as if it will protect all my plans from his prying eyes.
Finn stops and runs his eyes over me. I barely got to him in time, and we’re literally inches apart, him hovering over me as I look up into his gorgeous face.
A slow smile spreads, his eyes glinting. “Why, Avery, if you want to get up close and personal, all you have to do is say so.”
A full-fledged battle wages in my mind. The part that hates him—knowing what this brash, rude man is wanting to do to my city—warring with the part that thinks getting close and personal is a fantastic idea.
Stupid hormones. I try to fight it. To not let him see the way he affects me. But my breath comes faster as he stays right there in my personal space. His eyes drop to my chest, and I’m mortified that it’s literally heaving. How cliche.
Scraping his teeth across his bottom lip, he looks back up at me. My eyes widen when his fingers reach up and wind around a strand of hair that’s fallen in my face.
I somehow manage to regain a scrap of composure and swat his hand away. “That is the las
t thing I want to do.” Needing room to catch my breath, because this man is sucking it straight out of my lungs, I place my palms on his chest and push him back.
But the hard planes of his body and the heat I can feel radiating under my hands catch me off guard, and my fingers involuntarily tighten into his shirt.
Wicked intent flashes in those blue eyes. “You sure about that? From where I’m standing I’d have to disagree.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable. Walking in here as if you own the place, invading my privacy. Then you have the nerve to suggest that I— That I—” God, I can’t even say it.
He rakes his eyes over my face, making me burn hot, then settles his gaze on my mouth. “That you…?”
I force myself to let go of his shirt and take a deliberate step away. “Enough, Mr. Turner. Tell me why you’re here, or get out.”
Disappointment flashes across his face briefly before it’s replaced by that damn cocky smirk. And dear God, why does it do things to my body that it shouldn’t? I needy, yearning pull grips me low in my belly, diving further south the longer he stares at me.
“Go to dinner with me.”
“What?” My eyebrows knit together at the abrupt change in conversation.
“Dinner, Avery.” Even though I’ve tried to put distance between us by reverting to using his last name, I can’t deny how much I like the sound of my name on his lips. “You know, the meal at the end of the day, sometimes shared with other people. Occasionally with wine and good conversation. Let me take you to dinner.”
“Why?” My suspicions suddenly rise above all the other crazy things I’m feeling. “What are you after?”
It’s clear he’s trying to manipulate me. I should have seen it immediately. He’s using his charm against me to try to make me stop the protests. To clear a path for him to do whatever he wants.
“What makes you think I’m after anything?”
My eyes narrow. “Men like you always have ulterior motives.”
He flinches, and for a minute I feel bad, though I’m not sure why. Does he feel bad about the kind of man he is?
“Just let me take you to dinner. After that, you can decide for yourself what you think about me.”
I can’t deny I want to. I want to see what he’s up to, maybe discover a weakness. But it’s more than that. I also want to spend more time with him. And as dangerous as that is—no, as fucking stupid as that is—I find myself nodding my head.
“Fine,” I concede.
