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Could the man honestly look any more arrogant than he does right now? And also, so highly fuckable in that perfectly tailored suit, hugging his lean waistline, his broad shoulders. Oh dear Lord, this is bad. This is so, so bad.
“Now, Claire,” he says proudly, not bothering to attempt to hide the smug amusement lingering on his tongue. He holds his palms up in a bullshit show of innocence and takes a step toward me. I mirror it with my own step backwards.
He takes another forward. I take another back.
He bites back his smile. “I love this little cat and mouse game you and I have going on.”
“There’s no game. You and I have nothing going on.” Except how badly I wanna climb him. The back of my knees hit my couch. “Stop walking toward me!”
“Why? Nowhere to go?”
He chuckles at my horrified expression. Because if this man lays a finger on me, I’m going to melt into a puddle, and I think I’ve suffered enough humiliation for one day.
Isn’t it enough that I had to literally escape the meeting to wipe the hot spot between my legs? My panties are still uncomfortably damp an hour later and now I’m going to be squeezing my thighs together the rest of the day. It’s embarrassing, and I can’t understand for the life of me why this man is having this effect on me, other than just being insanely nice to look at.
“I’m just trying to be cordial, Claire. We’re going to be working together, you and I. Spending a lot of time together. Getting close. It’s best to be friendly, isn’t it?”
I snort. “Why do I think your definition of ‘friendly’ is a fuckload different than the one in the dictionary?”
“You think so?”
I pin my arms across my chest, effectively closing myself off. “I know so, Mr. Beck.”
“Well then, why don’t we have a look?”
Blinking up at him, I drop my arms. “What?”
He sweeps one hand—one large, magical hand—out toward my computer. “Let’s look it up. Friendly.”
“Is that really necessary?”
An amused smile dons his flawlessly chiseled face and he tucks his hands in his pant pockets, rocking back on his heels. It should be illegal for someone to look this ridiculously good in a suit. It’s like it was made for him.
I mean, it probably was. For some reason, that just irritates me further.
“Afraid I’m right?” Avery teases, luring me in.
“Pfft. No.” Back go my arms across my chest, hip popping.
I stalk over to my computer and let him pull my chair out for me. He slides me into my desk, and I watch his long fingers glide slowly across the walnut.
“I really like these desks,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He grips the edge of the wood and leans overtop of me.
“Must you stand so close?”
Avery drops forward until I feel his chest pressing against my back, his breath tickling my ear. “Stop stalling, lovely Claire.”
My teeth clack together keep from screaming. My hand takes way longer than it should to find my mouse, considering it’s only three inches to the right. I move the cursor around the screen when it wakes up, but apparently, I’m not moving fast enough for Mr. Beck. His hand closes over mine on the mouse and he jerks it, minimizing my email and clicking for the Safari tab.
Ignoring the way his hand feels on mine, like I just stuck my fingers in a live socket, I turn and glare at him. It’s a mistake, because our lips are like, a half inch apart. I can taste his breath, the sweet acidity of the Strawberry Grove beer he drank during the meeting sweeping into my mouth, caressing my tongue. I yelp and turn back to the screen while he chuckles into my hair.
“I can do it,” I insist harshly, throwing his hand off mine and jabbing an elbow back into his thigh. I just narrowly miss the impressive package lurking between his legs. Damn.
Clicking on the search bar, I flex my fingers over the keys, but all I can feel is him. Behind me, beside me, on me. He smells so good, like cedar and citrus. It’s intoxicating and maddening. I feel like banging my head off the keyboard.
“F…R…”
“Oh my God!” Swiveling, I shove him. Hard. He doesn’t even budge. “I know how to spell, you ass!”
