Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,36

he clearly uses it to his advantage, which makes me feel like I’m standing on shaky ground. Meanwhile he couldn’t appear to be any more relaxed if he tried.

It makes me wonder if anything ever gets to him. If he has moments of weakness.

I guess when you’re as hot and rich and successful as he is you don’t have to worry about weaknesses.

“To success.” He spins the word to sound … dirty, as though his definition of success has more than one meaning. He raises his glass and gives me a slow, scorching look that basically fries every brain cell I possess.

Damn it.

I need my brain cells to work right now, and be firing on all their goddamn cylinders. I need every shred of self-possession I can wrangle. Because Gage McCabe is not only fiendishly smart, he’s also a man who could easily reduce me to a thoroughly-female mess of desire, I’m learning. My forcefield is cranked up as high as it’ll go, because he’s doing that alpha thing again. Emitting top shelf pheromones that no doubt slay debutants by the dozens. It’s his superpower, this is obvious. He’s using those turquoise eyes to hypnotize me and that big, male body to lure me in.

If I hadn’t been through the ringer once already, I might fall for it. I might accept his challenge and let him do the things I can absolutely tell are playing out in his filthy mind. His eyes wander down my body, lingering. He’s picturing me naked. Wet. Ready. He’s thinking about what he’d do with his mouth.

Help me.

The truth is, though, I have been burned. Badly. And I honestly can’t go there again. Especially without Josie.

So I crank up my forcefield one notch higher and I do the things I do best. Deflect and avoid. Look on the bright side. Pretend everything’s fine. Smooth things over with cheerful conversation. Make small talk with every Joe who walks into my bar so they feel comfortable there.

I say the first thing that pops into my mind, because breaking this intense silence and distracting him towards safer directions is the only shield I have. “The last time I was in a limo I was nine years old. I used to have to ride in one to get to school every day.”

“In New York?”

There’s something jarring about his question. “How did you know that?”

For a split second, I get the feeling he might be hiding something, but he glides past it. “I don’t. It was just a guess. There are a lot of limos there.”

“Good guess.” Maybe he googled me. No, he definitely would have googled me. I already know he’s thorough. And it isn’t that hard to find out about where people have lived these days. So I brush it off. “It was one of the perks, if you could call it that, of having a loaded real estate mogul lusting after my beautiful, desperate mother, who was more than willing to take every gift he was dumb and eager enough to give.”

“You didn’t like the guy?” His hands are tanned and strong-looking. He could break the stem of that champagne flute without even trying. His jacket is unbuttoned. His blue shirt, made of expensive cotton, is stretched across his broad chest. His belt is thick, well-worn leather, almost cowboy-ish. Under it, his stomach is washboard flat. In fact there’s not a hint of anything other than pure, hard muscle anywhere on him. His thighs, lovingly hugged by his faded jeans, are strong and athletic-looking. I can abstractly appreciate that he’s perfectly built. And my eyes, since they happen to be checking out the general area, can’t help but skim … the incredibly … huge, bold shape of his—

Sweet Jesus.

I concentrate instead on the beads of condensation dripping down the bottle of Moët. Anything but his “endowments to die for.” They really weren’t kidding. Somehow, I regain my composure. “I … I didn’t hold it against him. It wasn’t his fault he was being played.”

“Maybe he didn’t mind,” he purrs. “Maybe it was worth it to him.”

As our eyes meet, something passes between us. Some kind of unspoken comeback. Like you would be, he seems to be saying.

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. Good Lord, what corner of my jaded mind did that morsel of self-flattery crawl out of? The champagne must be messing with my head. Not that I don’t think I’d be worth it—I would. I’m a self-sufficient, level-headed, fun-loving girl who’s a little