hills,” I blurt out before I put my brain-to-mouth filter on.
He clenches his fists, barely able to control his anger. “You told me you didn’t want to see me before I even met your children. Do not fucking lie to me, Claire,” he growls.
I sit back, affronted. I hate that he can see through me.
“I know who the coward is here, Claire, and it isn’t fucking me.”
“You arrogant prick. Have you ever considered that maybe I just don’t like you?”
“No. I haven’t. Because I know you do.”
I screw up my face in disgust. “I know that you think that every woman in the world is in love with you, but I can assure you, Mr. Miles, I am not.”
His eyes hold mine, and he gives me a slow, sexy smile, as if he knows a secret.
“What?”
He leans in so that only I can hear him. “I know for a fact that if I wanted to take you home, I could have you riding my cock all night.”
I get a vision of myself naked and on top of him, his thick body deep inside of mine, and my body clenches in appreciation.
“The hell you could,” I sneer.
He leans closer and puts his lips to my ear. His breath sends goose bumps down my spine. “It wouldn’t bother you that I didn’t like your children if you didn’t want me.”
I clench my jaw, annoyed with myself for saying that out loud. “Fuck you.”
He smiles darkly. “Admit it, Anderson; you think about me . . . just as much as I think about you.”
Shocked by his admission, I swallow the lump in my throat. “You think about me?” I whisper.
“All the fucking time. You’re driving me insane.”
Electricity buzzes between us . . . and I hate that it does.
“On that note”—he stands—“I’ll let you get back to your date.”
Don’t go.
“It’s not a date. He’s just a friend,” I blurt out.
Our eyes lock. “Prove it.”
The air between us is heavy with anger and want; it’s a heady combination.
“Call me in two hours,” he replies.
“Why would I do that?”
His dark eyes hold mine. “Because I’ve never needed to please a woman as much as I crave to please you . . . let me.”
I get a vision of his head between my legs, his thick tongue taking what it needs from me, and arousal begins to heat my blood.
I don’t want to want him . . . but God, I really do.
This isn’t good.
Without another word, he turns and walks off, back to his friends on the other side of the bar.
I stare into the space he just left. Every cell in my body is tingling, every inch of me craving what he has to give.
Good God, the devil really does wear Prada.
I’m totally fucking screwed.
Chapter 12
I take deep breaths as I try to ignore the feelings that Tristan Miles arouses in me.
Maybe that’s it—it’s just a bad-boy thing.
Yes, all women experience this at least once in their lives. I’m just doing it a little later than most.
Of course.
That is totally it. Why didn’t I realize this before?
I know I shouldn’t want him, and so therefore I do. Maybe if he were the perfect model citizen, I wouldn’t even want him at all.
I sip my wine in celebration about my epiphany. God . . . and I thought I really liked him. Stupid idiot. This is actually a relief.
My phone vibrates on the table as it receives a text. Tristan. Here we go.
Let me guess,
Gabriel Ferrara is offering to
help you financially?
I frown. What? Angered, I text back.
Gabriel is a good friend.
I’m offended.
Stop texting me before I block you.
A reply bounces back.
If you block me, who’s going to
nail you through the mattress tonight?
I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling. I write back.
I am on a date with another man.
I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you.
An answer bounces back.
You don’t like him,
I know you don’t.
I roll my eyes; the arrogance of this man is next level.
Okay Siri,
if you say so.
I smirk as I hit send.
Siri?
I glance over to see him sitting on a stool, smirking back as he texts me.
Bastard. I like this game, and I really shouldn’t. I reply.
Well you seem to know everything,
so I assume you moonlight as Siri.
I look over to see him smile broadly as he reads my text. I bite the inside of my cheek as I act uninterested.
Lose the prick
and come buy me a drink.
I giggle before I can stop myself. Of all the nerve.