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"Engaged? You told them we’re engaged?" She leans against the door to the room and folds her arms across her chest. Her voice is deceptively mild, and that’s the first sign there's a side of her I haven’t seen before. "You told them that you and I"—she points between us—"are involved in a relationship."
I hold her gaze, and underneath the golden sparks in her eyes, I spot silver flashes. Not something I’ve seen before—a sign that she’s pissed, I’m sure of it. The fine hair on the nape of my neck rises. My subconscious, honed by my many tours, warns me this is a situation not to be taken lightly. All my senses home in on her. "Umm, can we talk about this?"
I slowly raise my hands, so as not to incite her further, and her eyes flash. The pulse at the base of her neck kicks up. If we were in a superhero movie, there would be flashes of lightning sparking off of her skin.
"You want to talk?" she asks, again in that tone of voice that almost has cheerful lilt to it. One that makes me very, very wary. If I don’t answer her, it’s going to make things worse. If I do—? I’m not sure it’s going to make things better. The only thing I’m grateful for? She waited until we got behind closed doors before she decided to lower the boom.
I nod slowly. "I do want to talk, yes."
"So talk." She taps her foot, clad in those six-inch heels with the red soles. Not sure which designer created it, but fuck, if it doesn’t add height to her legs and push out her butt, as well as enhance the thrust of her tits. Which is chauvinistic, I’m aware, but I’m a red-blooded male, and I can only resist looking at her assets to a point. Besides, it’s Gio—not any woman. The kind of woman I’ve dreamed of meet for years.
"You have to admit, it was an inspired way to nip the gossip at the source."
"Inspired?" She pushes a finger into her cheek and pretends to think. "Let me see… What do I think?" She directs her gaze back on me. "I agree."
"You do?" I stare at her, trying to peer through that expression of serenity on her face and failing.
"It was inspired. And so is this." She bends, slips off her stiletto, then lobs it at me.
15
Gio
"Motherfucking, twat-busting, rat’s ass of a manhole," I fume.
He steps aside and my Louboutin crashes to the floor.
"That’s a very expensive pump, you douche-hat." I hop around on my bare foot, then slide off the other stiletto and pitch it at him. He catches it. Of course, he does, asshole athlete that he is. Then he brings it up to his face and licks up the inside of the sole.
I gape at him. "Did you just—"
"Lick your shoe?" He lowers the heel to his side, then picks up the other one. Without taking his gaze off of me, he brings it to his face and inhales it.
"Umm…" I hesitate. "I’m not sure that smells very good."
His lips curl. "Everything about you smells like you, and that’s all that matters."
A ripple of heat licks up my spine. If I look down at my chest, I know my nipples will be outlined through my blouse and my jacket. The lust that slices through me is not a surprise. It’s been there, bubbling and rising inside me, increasing in size every day, slowly, slowly.
He’s a master of seduction, that’s for sure, with his words—when he speaks —and his actions, and his every move intended to make an impression on me, until I can’t help but be aware of him when we're in the same room. And when we’re not, I’m searching for his ugly mug—okay, his devilishly handsome mug—and the sight of his broad shoulders, that wide chest, the tapered waist, those powerful thighs, which could hold up my weight without a second thought. Only, I’m not going to let myself be taken in by his gorgeousness, his beauty, the sheer masculinity of his presence that has already imprinted itself on me.
"Everything aboutyoumakes me want to turn my back on you and walk away," I shoot back.
"Oh?" He prowls over until he’s standing so close the heat from his body surrounds me like a welcome embrace.
That fresh snow and cut grass scent of his envelops me. I draw it in, and my head spins. My blood begins to pump harder; a pulse throbs at my wrists, my ankles, behind my eyes, all of it coalescing into a molten beat that thuds between my legs.
"You want to leave?" he asks in a silky-smooth voice that does weird things to my belly. Gah, why is everything about this man designed to turn me on? He’s one big sex-machine, and Tom Jones has nothing on him.
"Do you, Goldilocks?"
I huff out a choked breath. "And which one of the three bears are you?"
"How about all three combined into one?" He bends and drags his nose up the side of my cheek. "I certainly have the appetite to rival it."
He draws in a breath, followed by a growl of approval.
