Conflict of Interest - By Allyson Lindt Page 0,2
don’t mind overpaying for a label” reminded him of too many women he’d dated who preferred his wallet to his company.
“Is there something wrong?” She stared back, face quirked in question.
He’d been surprised and curious when she’d approached, and amused by the hesitation coming from a woman who held herself with so much confidence. It was a shame she’d let the conversation die when he went to save his game, and he was hoping to reinitiate it. Find out more about this potential dichotomy.
“Nope.” He met her steady gaze, keeping his tone even but not able to hide all his amusement. “Just wondering something.”
She ducked her head, gaze falling to his hand before it quickly jumped back to his face. “What’s that?”
The flush on her cheeks was enticing. How much redder could he make her go before she slapped him? Or let him brush his mouth over hers. Right, like that would happen in a million years. He nodded at her phone. “How contrived their happily ever after is.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
Yup, she was going to slap him. Or at least grind her heel into his toes. Thank the open-source gods she wore sneakers and not heels.
“The big tough hero and his dainty mistress.” He knew better than to assume, but that had never stopped him in the past, and everything about her, from the way she’d folded a napkin on her knee to the ponytail that didn’t look like it would budge even with a solid, impassioned tug, screamed repressed. “Is he a duke? Or maybe she’s a stripper with a heart of gold?” One of his two best friends, Rae, was forever losing herself in romance novels. He adored her, but never understood her fascination with the subject. Reality wasn’t happily ever after.
His tablemate rolled her eyes and slid the phone across the table. “He’s a teenager who was psychologically tortured by Homeland Security for more than a week, and she’s helping him get back at ‘the man.’”
That sounded familiar. He tapped the screen to bring up the book information. Little Brother. His smile turned genuine. “My mistake. Good book, I won’t spoil the ending.”
The ambivalence in her half-formed smile stole his next breath. Her tone was dry. “I appreciate it. Sorry to disappoint you, but bad euphemisms aren’t my thing.”
This was fun. He bit back a smirk. “Really? Sacred vees and turgid manhood—or is it manhoods, plural? Or maybe that’s a different kind of story. That doesn’t do anything for you?”
She dropped the phone into her purse, mouth still twitching in indecision. Damn that was a good look for her.
“Not on paper.” She ran a tongue over her bottom lip before catching it between her teeth.
He wouldn’t mind giving that a try. Nipping at that full almost-pout. His pulse sped up at the banter. He pushed his game aside and leaned in, fingers clasped and hands resting on the table. He was going to enjoy this for as long as she wanted to keep it up. The last couple of women he’d been with—hell, even his last couple of girlfriends before that—had been more giggle than brain. Cared more about how they looked on his arm than what he had to say.
He was sick of fake girls only interested in his money. This woman though, she radiated intelligence, genuineness, and had no idea who he was. “They were wrong. It’s not more fun than a gorgeous woman.”
“They?” Her flush spread to her neck.
Long, slender. What would it be like to run his tongue along that slope? “Marketing. They’re making promises they can’t keep.” He pushed his half-eaten donut aside. Her bold responses mingled with the hesitation and embarrassment flushing her pale skin, all of it short circuiting his thoughts. And he wanted more. “So you’d rather the exploration of honeyed walls took place real time.”
Disbelief mingled with her laughter. “Are you always so forward?”
Frequently, to the dismay of his board of directors. A shadow passed through the shop as clouds covered the sun outside. “Only until it gets me slapped. You?”
“Always and for as long as I can get away with it.” She shifted in her seat, leaning in, arms resting on the table and accentuating full breasts.
He forced his attention to stay on her face. She wasn’t even close to the prissy socialite he’d imagined. It had been a long time since he’d pegged someone so completely wrong, and he was enjoying the hell out of it.
Her phone interrupted, a tinny pop song cutting through