narrow my eyes and pointedly ignore it, he shrugs, then runs it through his hair instead. The motion makes the hem of his shirt rise just far enough to give me a glimpse of his washboard abs. “And why don’t we have a seat? Discuss this on more cordial terms.”
Fuck. My thighs clench. A tiny part of my traitorous brain can’t help but think about what those abs would feel like if I ran my hands over them. Or if I tugged off his shirt, ripped it off him right now and pushed him back into that chair so I could touch his chest, bury my hands in his long hair, what would he say then…?
I dig my nails into my palms. Focus. “Damon. Are you agreeing to do this the easy way, then?”
“Anything for my dear fiancée,” he responds with a smirk. “And by the way, now that I know you’re as bad a girl as I am a man, I have to say, I could’ve done worse for myself.” He closes the rest of the gap between us, until his chest is inches from my face. I hate the move, since I have to crane my head back to glare up at him now, but I hold my ground, refusing to budge. “Now, little Ashley, is checking me out part of the interrogation technique, or just a benefit for you personally while you’re in here?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping not to give anything away. “How do you know my name?”
“Everyone who works for Mauricio knows about Ashley. The light of his life, the reason he does all this, blah, blah, blah.” Damon tsks and reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my shoulder, slowly. The move is at once so forward and so familiar that it catches my breath in my throat, and I simply stare at him. Belatedly, I realize I should slap his hand away, but he’s already dropped it and cocked his head to study me once more. “I see now why your father is so proud and protective of you, Ashley. You’re quite a woman.”
I lick my lips, which have gone dry. Damon’s gaze drops to follow the trace of my tongue, and I find myself wondering what his lips would taste like. How that broad mouth would feel pressed against mine, his stubble grazing my cheek. How would it feel if he crushed his mouth against mine right now, wrapped those big, strong hands around my waist and lifted me against this wall? How would it feel if he pressed his thick cock between my legs, let me feel the bulge through his jeans, slid against me as I was pinned between him and the wall…?
Fuck. I’m getting wet just thinking about it. Not to mention standing so close to him…
I clear my throat, mostly to get the sudden tightness out of it. “You’re wasting time,” I reply, after too long and too noticeable a pause. “You should be drawing me a map to the money’s location.”
“Should I?” He lifts one brow, and that maddening smirk of his is wider than ever. I want to wipe it off his face. “Tell me again why I would do that, when it’s the only bargaining chip I have left. Well, besides your obvious desire for me.”
God, that fucking smirk. It would look sexy as hell if I were gazing down at it while he bent me backwards across this table, and slid down my body to peel off this tight-as-hell skirt…
Get it together, Ashley.
I force myself to laugh, derisive. “My desire for you?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered,” Damon says. “It’s not just any day you find a woman of your caliber lusting after a man like me.”
That does it. I sputter and shove him with both hands, full in the chest.
He doesn’t move an inch. Just laughs.
“In your dreams, Damon Tell.”
“You definitely will be tonight.” He lifts one brow. “I can see it already. You spread-eagled across my bed while I tear those confining clothes off your willing body…”
I storm past him toward the door. He stops me, catching my wrist in one hand, so huge it wraps all the way around and pins me in place. An instinctive shout dies on my lips, if only because I don’t want to tip off the guards. I haven’t been able to get what Dad needed from Damon, so I need to keep the guards believing this lie for as long