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‘What are you doing here?’ Her question came out on a lame huff as he arrived at her desk, the temper radiating off him in waves.
‘I think you know.’ He snagged her wrist and hauled her out of the chair. ‘We need to talk.’ Without another word, he marched out of the office, Tally trailing along behind, while her friends and colleagues all did their best guppy impressions.
‘Excuse me, would you like to feature in our Hunks in Toolbelts column?’ Jill called out from behind them. They both ignored her.
‘Are you insane?’ She slapped at the hand manacled to her wrist. His strides lengthened. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re taking me?’
‘Somewhere private,’ he hissed over his shoulder, dragging her past Gloria, whose eyes had rounded to the size of dinner plates. ‘Don’t worry, you can tell your million followers all about it once I’ve finished giving you the spanking you deserve.’
Whaaaat?
She struggled in earnest then, shock warring with outrage, not only from the threat, but from the spark of sensation that shot down her spine and exploded in her arse. He’d spanked her several times last night. And she’d loved it. His dominance had been arousing, inflaming her senses and making her want to surrender control. But the thought of him laying his hand on her arse now, as if he had a right to, as if he’d bought and paid for the privilege, made her temper explode like a firecracker—unfortunately, it also made her hum like a high-end vibrator.
‘You son of a bitch. How dare you act as though I’m in the wrong here.’ She hurled the words at his back. His shoulders tensed, but it was the only response she got as he headed past the lifts and slapped open the swinging door to the empty offices on the other side of the recently rehabbed building.
Yanking her into the cavernous space, he swung her round to face him, his brows lowering over eyes that had gone a cold flinty blue.
She rubbed her wrist, her breath heaving. ‘You lay a hand on my arse and I’ll sue your arse from here to next Sunday.’
‘You’re gonna sue me?’ He stabbed a thumb into his chest. ‘That’s fucking rich! After you posted a picture of me and intimate details about my sex life to a million people.’
‘Bugger off, I’ve got a few hundred thousand followers at most,’ she shot back, trying not to panic at the thought that he had discovered her identity—and so must know all about the ongoing Twitter hunt—which offered him as the prize. ‘Plus, I didn’t identify you, so it’s not libellous. And no judge is going to consider Epic Hot Lover defamation of character—because most guys would be flattered.’
‘Uh-huh? Well, I’m not most guys.’ He slapped a hand against the wall above her head, surrounding her in that subtle laundry-soap scent. ‘A picture counts as identification. And Epic Hot Lover wasn’t the only hashtag.’ His temper sparked off hers, making the adrenaline pump through her veins like wildfire. ‘I’m also the ultimate alpha hole, remember?’
‘It’s only libel if it’s not true,’ she sneered. ‘Mistaking me for a hooker totally makes you an alpha hole. And the fact that you obviously have no qualms about paying women for sex takes you to a whole new level of alpha-hole-ed-ness!’ she shouted, her tongue tangling on the word.
‘Alpha-hole-ed-ness?’ he quipped, his face fuming.
‘Oh, piss off. My syntax suffers when I’m angry.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who’s mad.’
Fire burned through her nerve endings, and her treacherous nipples peaked beneath the bodice of her dress as his chest brushed her breasts. His clean scent invaded her senses, bringing with it the visceral memory of his tongue teasing her clitoris.
She slapped her hands against his chest, intending to give him a shove. But as her palms connected with the sculpted muscle beneath his T-shirt, tension rippled through him and echoed in her sex.
‘FYI, I don’t pay women for sex,’ he said. ‘Ever. That was a misunderstanding.’
She braced her arms, determined not to let him get any closer—struggling to maintain her fury as her nipples hardened to aching tips and the shimmer of sensation gushed into her panties.
‘That’s funny, because you tried to pay me.’ He’d insulted her. And not just her, but every woman who’d ever been slapped with that double standard that said that any woman who enjoyed sex, and wasn’t afraid to go out and get laid when she got the urge, had to be a whore.
‘Only because I read your damn business card and freaked out.’
‘You thought Tally Gladstone, MyPad Design Journalist was secret code for Tally Gladstone, MyPad Is YourPad If You Pay Me Enough?’ she shouted back. ‘That’s not being freaked out, that’s being totally freaking unable to read plain English.’
‘Not that card, the other one. The one for your Twitter habit.’
Her elbows unlocked as she recalled what she had on her @BlindDateBitch cards—something about hot dates and not stopping till you got your rocks off.
Bugger!
But then her arms stiffened back up. ‘Bollocks, that’s still a stretch. I never asked you for a single cent. I’d have to be a phenomenally crap call-girl to be at it all night and not have mentioned a price. Once.’ Her temper shot straight back up to boiling point. ‘And you only left me a hundred and fifty quid. You cheapskate. That BJ in the shower was worth at least a grand.’
‘Don’t mention the blow job.’
‘Why the hell not?’ she bristled, well and truly on a roll now. ‘I had you on your knees...’
