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“What lesson was that?” he asks. I glimpse that pink flush working its way up his neck again. My heart skips a beat.
Ignoring it, I step up onto the raised “track” that loops around the trading floor. Theo steps up too, both of us stopping to face each other.
“You’re not worth the trouble,” I say, and it’s my turn to give him a nonchalant little shrug. “That’s the first and last time I’m ever gonna stick my neck out for you. Understood?”
Half the trading floor is looking at us now, but I don’t care. Let them bear witness to the beginning of Theo Morgan’s downfall.
Or maybe the beginning of mine. All I know is I’m so angry I’m practically shaking, and I need to get off the floor and away from this man before I say something I regret.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m five,” he hisses.
“Don’t treat me like an idiot,” I fire back. “If I had known you didn’t fight fair, I would’ve never agreed to this bet.”
His eyes sharpen, making my stomach flip. “I fight fair, but I play rough. If that’s gonna be a problem—”
“Oh, Morgan, please. I was just fantasizing about taking your head off with my magical vacuum cleaner.” This draws a bark of laughter from Nicky. “Trust me when I say I can play just as rough as you do.”
“Sure thing, princess.”
My fingers clench around my wallet. “Which one is it, Morgan? Am I a princess or a witch?”
One side of his mouth kicks up. “All that matters is that you’ll be a hobbit tomorrow.”
It’s the smirk that makes me finally snap. That and the princess comment, because I’ve had my ass kicked as often and as hard as anyone else on this floor over the course of my career. Probably more, thanks to the fact that I have a vagina. An entitled douche like him implying that I’m the snowflake—ugh, I really am going to scream if I don’t get out of here right. freaking. now.
“Not if I use my vacuum cleaner on you first,” I bite out.
“You go girl,” Brooks deadpans.
“My money’s still on Nora,” George adds.
Without looking, I turn away from him toward the exit, the balls of my feet already protesting thanks to the four-inch heels I’m wearing today. Only then do I realize Greer, the owner of the bakery downstairs and George’s little sister, was wheeling up her enormous cart of baked goodies and coffee right behind me.
The realization comes a beat too late. I’m about to plow headfirst into her beautiful display of turbinado-sugar-crusted pastries when a large hand wraps around my wrist and gives my arm a quick, hard tug.
The hand is dry. And hot. And its firm grip on my wrist sends a pulse of awareness screaming up my arm as I spin around to face none other than Theo Morgan, a stricken look on his face as he says through gritted teeth, “Careful.”
“Jesus, Nora, are you okay?” Greer asks.
My skin ignites as my hip bumps into Theo’s belt buckle. Even in my heels he’s half a head taller than me and twice as broad. But it’s the softness in his eyes—the way his brows are slanted up not in judgment but in concern—that knocks the wind out of me.
That, and the fact that he’s still holding my wrist firmly, with intent, the way he would if he were holding me down. Underneath him. On his bed. As he lowered the weight of his body onto mine and tilted his head to kiss my neck.
I blink. Where the hell did that come from? I’m not starved for sex. I swipe right when I’m in the mood, and I have a couple regulars on rotation when I turn up empty-handed on apps.
This isn’t about dick. Or maybe it’s not only about dick. It’s about something else.
My eyes flick to his mouth. Awareness gathers between my legs.
“Stop it!” I say. To myself or Theo, I don’t know. I yank my wrist out of his grasp but my body still rings with arousal, which is ridiculous.
I’m being ridiculous.
Theo immediately drops my arm, holding up his hands. The pink flush is up to his chin now. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you taking a tumble. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Out of the corner of my eye I catch Nicky turning to Brooks and saying, “Stop staring at the muffin girl, you pervert.”
“Shut up,” Brooks huffs. “I’m not staring.”
“Yes, you are, and it’s weirding everyone out.”
“Me,” George says. “It’s weirding me out especially.”
“Sorry,” Brooks replies gruffly.
I’d smile at Brooks’s obvious crush on Greer if I wasn’t standing an inch away from Theo Morgan, my skin tingling with something I do not like.
“Keep your hands off me,” I say to him, keeping my voice low and even.
That muscle in his jaw ticks again. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.
