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The lighting makes him even sexier. I should have had this conversation over the phone. I’m not even following my own script, for God’s sake.
“I came to thank you for your help. I can’t help wondering, though, why did you help me? And how?” I take a step back. I have to distance myself physically, hoping my body gets the message.
Distance. Distance. Distance.
But Dominic steps forward, his movement not a covert operation like mine. He invades my space, and while I’m not yet plastered against his door, I do feel cornered. That’s bad. But worse, I don’t mind. Or my body doesn’t.
He is all heat and muscles and manhood. I’m suddenly breathless, unreasonably warm and itchy. I swallow and crane my neck to look at him.
I won’t wilt under his scorching look. I’m not a fool, I know he’s toying with me. Reminding me of that stupid moment of weakness when I used his boxes as a punching bag. Asshole.
When my eyes reach his, I don’t know if he wants to kill me or fuck me. Or he really is teasing me and I’m the one who doesn’t know if the plan is to kill or screw. Both acts stem from anger. Hate.
“As for the why…” His voice washes over me like a soft blanket. “While I got involved uninvited, I always finish what I start. As for the how, I think I told you that already.”
His breath on my skin should elevate my annoyance, but it does the exact opposite. I need to get away from him, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of taking another step back.
“So this would fall under the five percent?” The venom I try to infuse into my retort falls short even to my ears. One corner of his mouth twitches up. He remembers our conversation.
Someone has to defend the criminals. I won’t apologize for doing that, or for being damn good at it. And ninety-five percent legit about it.That’s what he said the night he brought over the Indian food for our not-a-date.
“Why do you need to know?” He feels even closer now, his breath eliciting goosebumps down my spine. The good kind that trickle down into my center. Goddammit, I hate the power he has over my body.
“Because I don’t think our moral compasses are calibrated the same way.” I swallow hard.
I spend my days practically begging people for money, and I’ve never felt this uncomfortable having a conversation. I shouldn’t have worn the turtleneck. It’s a sleeveless piece, but my neck is burning up under the fabric, making me hot all over.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like winning.” He is not touching me, but every millimeter of my skin burns for him. As though this is foreplay with a promise of things I don’t want to contemplate.
Do I really need to resist this?
But I have rules for a reason. Also, lately he’s not only my neighbor, he’s a friend of the family. My panties don’t go into that territory. Ever. This fortifies me a bit, while my core keeps clenching.
“Of course. I love winning. That’s the problem, in this case. I enjoy the idea of Warren losing to me, and I worry you may be the magnet to my moral compass.” There, I said it. I’ve never believed the end justifies the means, but in this case, I can’t argue that it did.
“Are you worried I’d corrupt you, London?” he drawls.
We glare at each other—or rather I hope I glare while he fucks me with his hooded gaze.
His eyes drop to my lips. And, of course, my tongue darts out of its own accord. I lick my lips and look away quickly. Jesus.
“Your girlfriend didn’t take care of you tonight, or is your appetite insatiable?”
He steps back. Thank God. I try to ignore the coldness he’s left behind. My body is seriously malfunctioning right now.
“She is not my girlfriend, and you should drop the jealousy act. At the end of the day, I can sleep with whoever I want. It’s none of your business.” He isn’t casually standing and smirking anymore. His default overconfident stance has changed, and he seems pissed now.
“I wonder how Felicia feels about Patty,” I bark.
He winces. “What are you talking about?”
Oh my God, I can’t believe I just went there. It’s not like I have the moral ground to challenge him on this matter. Right now, I don’t have solid ground anywhere. I stumble back and hit the door.
Yet, I don’t back up. I should, but my brain and common sense have taken a day off. “I saw you with her at the Madison Club. Leaving the private wing where the bedrooms are.”
“And how do you know, sweetheart, there are bedrooms at that club?”
Arguing with a lawyer is maddening.
