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Her gaze narrowed. “It is when you make me buy you condoms and KY and a magnum pleasure ring. God, that was embarrassing and just plain gross. And it was all for nothing!”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I was thinking about getting laid.” She looked mad. Good. That made two of them. Pushy woman. She needed to back off, and she really needed to stop rubbing against him before he did get a hard-on. Or worse, much worse, before she noticed that he couldn’t get it up. That he wasn’t a functioning man. “But thinking about sex and buying condoms doesn’t mean I want to do it with you. So you can stop rubbing yourself against me. I’m not that desperate.”
Her big blue eyes rounded. “What?”
“You’re not my type of woman. I’m not a boob man, and rubbing your breasts against me doesn’t turn me on.”
“I didn’t rub against you.”
“You rubbed.” He pointed his rigid middle finger a diddle fit all the ruffles on her blouse. “I don’t want to have sex with you. No offense.”
Her mouth fell open. “‘No offense’? You’ve been trying to offend me since the first day we met.”
He dropped his hand to the top of the desk beside his right hip. That was true.
“You’ve been working overtime at it.”
No, he hadn’t. If he’d been working overtime, he would have said, “Now, don’t get all mad and bitter and hurt. I’m sure some men find you attractive. I’m just not one of them. Honestly, I just can’t get it up for a woman with a smart mouth, big boobs, and ridiculous hair. It’s just totally out of the question.”
She blinked. He’d shocked her, and he half expected her to storm out of his house. “That’s a relief.” A smile curved her full pink lips. “I’ve quit, or been fired, from a lot of jobs because I refused to have sex with my boss.” Her nose crinkled like she smelled something bad. “You wouldn’t believe what some men have wanted me to do.”
Actually, he probably could. Men were fairly predictable.
“It’s disgusting. The last guy I worked for expected a BJ.”
And while men and some women were fairly predictable, she was not. She didn’t react like he expected because she wasn’t a normal woman. She had yellow and reddish-pink hair and dressed like an abstract painting.
She laughed as she shook her head. “It’s a huge relief to know I never have to worry about that from you.”
For a man who’d never had to work all that hard at getting a woman in bed, her laughter irritated him more than usual. Which said a lot. “Hold on. You’re not ugly. I didn’t say anything about a BJ being out of the question.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts, and her arms got...
“Praise Jesus,” he said through a frown as a dull ache settled in the backs of his eyes. This conversation wasn’t going where he wanted. She was supposed to be getting mad and he was supposed to be laughing as he watched her walk out the door.
Chelsea looked at the tall, arrogant man in front of her. At his powerful arms and big chest. His scowl and his hard gaze. The jerk didn’t like a taste of his own medicine. “Really, you have no idea how relieved I am to know that I never have to have sex with you.”
“Yeh, I think I have some idea;
“I’m just so glad we have it out in the open.” You’re not ugly. She wasn’t the least ugly. In fact, she thought she was pretty darn attractive. He was just a typical jock a-hole who thought he was so special he should date supermodels. “And in the futu
re, if I lean over to show you something and I accidentally touch you, it’s not on purpose.” And because she really did want to keep her job, she added, “Although I’m sure lots of women would kill to touch you.”
His brows lowered over his dark eyes, and combined with the black shadow of his beard, he looked kind of scary. “Just not you.”
But Chelsea had faced a lot scarier things than one moody hockey player. For all his weight and bulk and anger, he didn’t intimidate her. “No. Not me.” Time to change the subject before he got mad and got her fired. Or worse, sent her on another humiliating and senseless errand like buying condoms. “I think your participation in the charity golf tournament is important. First, because it’s for charity and the press will give it more attention if you’re there. Second, because your fans want to see you.”
“Are we back to that?” He closed his eyes and groaned. “God, you’re like a tick burrowing into my head. I told you I can’t play. I’d come in over par on every damn shot.”
A pit bull and now a tick. Flattering. “Your score isn’t the point.”
“The score is always the point.” He reached for his cane and rose to his full height. “I don’t play anything that I can’t win.”
“You don’t celebrate second place.”
“That’s right.”
“This event is for charity. The point of playing for any charity isn’t whether you win first, second, or third. It’s your participation.” He opened his mouth to argue but she held up one hand. “Just think about it. I have another week before I have to give them an answer either way.”
