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“I’m reserving judgment until after the party.”
With a smug grin, he settles into the leather seat, knees spread shoulder-width apart as a fifth of top-shelf vodka takes up the space between his legs. He passes me a bottle of sparkling water before fixing himself a cocktail—though it’s a loose term considering he adds just a splash of juice to the highball glass.
“Having a little screw with your driver?”
“Are you offering? Because as much as I appreciate Henry,” he says, nodding to where the driver sits out of view on the other side of the partition, “he’s not really my type.”
“I was talking about the orange juice.”
Ford downs the drink in one long gulp, his hazel eyes laughing at me from above the rim. Licking his lips, he pours another. “Your sassy attitude gets me horny as fuck.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
He chuckles. “I bet you drove Heath crazy with that rebellious mouth.”
“He used fear to break me into submission. I knew not to push him.”
“I don’t scare you?”
His question rattles me. “You make me uncomfortable,” I admit with much reluctance. “But you don’t frighten me.”
“That’s good to know. Scaring women isn’t my style.” He raises a brow. “You don’t have to sit all the way over there, you know…unless you’re scared I’ll bite?”
Ignoring his obvious effort to provoke me, I stretch out my arms and take up the back seat, legs crossed, while he sits across from the bar. My flowing rose gold skirt falls to my ankles, and though the halter top shows off a good amount of cleavage, it’s a modest ensemble.
“Jesus, you tempt the hell out of me, baby girl.”
The standoff continues as I hold his gaze, infusing some of that attitude he gets off of in the jut of my chin.
Amusement pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Remember that role I said I wanted you to play?”
“I remember.”
“You’re supposed to be playing my date tonight, Novalee.”
“I thought I was your date.”
“I need you to actually play the part, which means you need to get comfortable sitting in my lap.” He sets aside his half-empty glass and the bottle of vodka before patting his thighs.
“The last time I sat in your lap, you made a fool of me.”
“You loved every minute of it.”
I fold my arms. “What kind of party is this?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, how about we do a practice run?” There’s a challenge in his tone, a quiet dare, and I let a full minute pass, refusing to budge.
But he’s patient, allowing enough time for my natural curiosity to take flight. With an exaggerated sigh, I move to where he’s sitting and lower myself onto his lap, my body facing the bar. As I wind an arm around his neck, his cock hardens.
I feel my skin flush. “What now?”
“Pretend you like me.” He runs his nose up the side of my neck before turning my head.
Our eyes lock, making my traitorous blood pump too hard in my veins. Why is my breathing suddenly shallow? Why is he having this effect on me? I can’t even blame intoxication this time. Much to my chagrin, there’s undeniable chemistry between us, and it sends me reeling.
“You’re supposed to distract him,” he says with a hard swallow. “Not me.”
“Who?”
