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The sharp intake of breath she takes tells me she’s not so immune to my charisma. I expect her to take a step back or to push me away.
Instead, she leans in even closer, dropping her hands on my shoulders and raising onto tiptoes. The movement brings the top of her lush ponytail right under my nose. Her hair smells like a warm breeze in the summer and the salt of the ocean. Even though, last time I checked, there are no oceans in Wyoming.
Her voice comes out as a low hiss, sweet as poison, tempting as sin. “I’m looking forward to our panel tomorrow.” She lowers onto the soles of her feet again. “I hope you came prepared, Gabriel.”
She makes eye contact as my name rolls out of her mouth like warm syrup.
I clench my fists at my sides to avoid doing something stupid like pulling her ponytail down to tilt her chin up and kiss all the nonsense out of her.
As she takes a step back, she frowns as if in surprise and looks down between her legs where a slip of silky pink fabric is slithering to the floor—a scrap of clothing that looks very much like panties.
Her eyes snap up to mine, her cheeks a delicious shade of dark pink.
Before she can move, I bend down and collect her underwear from the floor, brushing my fingertips against her ankle.
When we come back face to face, she still seems too shocked to talk.
“Are you going commando?” I tease.
That jolts her out of her stupor. “No, they must’ve stuck to the inside of my skirt in the dryer. Give them back.”
I pocket the panties. “No.”
Her blush intensifies. “Those are mine.”
“And where would you put them?” I give her a mock once-over. “You have no bag or pockets.”
She gives me one seething look, and without another word, she turns on her heels and storms off. And I would be mad at being ditched like that, if not for the spectacular view her swaying behind and ponytail are offering.
Too soon, she disappears from view, and I sigh. Not that I was expecting a display of eternal gratitude, but I hadn’t expected this level of hostility either.
Also, I didn’t particularly prepare for our panel tomorrow. The argument for lifting weights versus using body weight is one I’ve made a million times. I could do it in my sleep even if I’m not particularly evangelistic about it. Market research showed targeting men would bring in more revenues for my gyms. Another study confirmed most men lift weights so that’s the direction I took. But now I have to defend the gospel, at least in public.
True, I’ve never debated the topic with Blake. And she’s already shown me she can be as sly as a fox when the circumstances call for it. But what can she really do in front of a room full of people? There are no fool’s errands to send me on.
Still, her veiled threat has put a sense of unease in my gut.
I turn to the barman and signal for another Scotch. I’ve got a feeling this won’t be the only drink I’ll need before the conference is over.
23
BLAKE
I stomp away from MGM before I do something stupid like kick him in the shins or kiss him—both are equally possible. The cadence of his voice, strong and deep. The brazenness of his expression, the cocky manner in which he tilted his head to the side when he looked at me. Those shoulders, toned and perfect—that I can’t stop picturing sweaty and bare. The muscles on those arms stretched tightly against his sleeves. The way he held himself, confident, bordering on arrogant. And the fact that he now holds a pair of my panties hostage in his pocket. It’s all too much. I need to steer clear of him—starting now.
Still fuming, I cross the lobby in search of a quiet spot to regroup. My brain is whizzing with the confirmation that MGM is the only reason I got invited to the Billy. The audacity of that man. He didn’t even try to deny his involvement. I curse the day I didn’t keep my mouth shut with that darn reporter at The Wall Street Journal interview. Evan was right on all fronts. Poking the bear was a mistake. Huge miscalculation. I got distracted and dropped the ball on the Apex pitch, landing it straight into Gabriel’s lap. I could’ve worked harder to show the CEO of Apex the upside of a strong online presence, but I didn’t. What did I do instead? I became a meme. It can never happen again.
I only wish I could push MGM out of my head—that would help my focus tremendously. But no matter how hard I try, I’m having little success. As I make my way to the fireplace, I bring a hand to my neck where the trail of his warm breath has left a patch of searing, blistering skin. All I can say for myself is that I managed not to shiver and that I stood my ground while he whispered in my ear, the proximity of his lips making me conjure images of what the graze of MGM’s teeth against my earlobe would feel like. It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to tilt my head to the side, angling it upward, when he leaned in to talk to me. It’s all it would’ve taken for us to kiss.
The phantom of his words plays in my ears. “I’m really hard not to like.”
What kind of presumptuous peacock says something like that? I hate him more because he can get away with it. Because it’s true. The man is hard to resist. But I have to stay strong.
I need to shake MGM off and rid my nostrils of his intoxicatingly masculine scent. An amber haze of mead and whiskey—my new favorite smell. Low and warm, full and husky, laced by wooded undertones mixed with a dangerous spice. Just the memory of it makes my mouth water. Apparently, Eau De Rich Alphahole does it for me.
I hate that he can make me so worked up. Hate that I’m inexorably attracted to him. No matter what my brain says, my body has a completely different mind—one that wants to surrender control to MGM and be ravished. Oh my gosh, now I’m even thinking like a torrid romance novel. I need to get a grip. Keep my focus. I’m here for business, nothing else—definitely not pleasure.
All I have going for me at our panel tomorrow is the element of surprise, and I almost spilled the beans about my plan. I know better than to let my mouth run away with me, but MGM rattles me so easily. And the way I couldn’t stop myself from touching him—what is with the man’s chest and my inability to keep my hands off it?
