been searching out in magazine samples to smell again since I danced with him.
I risk a glance to my side to study his profile. He’s still wearing his suit from work, and the deep blue of the expensive fabric looks exquisite against his skin. His hair is tousled like he’s run his fingers through it many times today, and his suit jacket is open, tie loosened from around his neck.
In short, he looks like a wet dream come to life, and even though he’s been nothing but an asshole to me since I returned, the hum of sexual desire presses low in my belly for the first time in longer than I care to remember.
“Stop looking at me,” he snarls.
Jesus, this man.
I spin to face him, my laughter seconds away from slipping out. “What exactly is your problem?”
Garrin steps into me, giving me no choice but to retreat until my back is pressed against the elevator wall. He isn’t touching me, though he’s fractions of an inch from doing so. For some horrible reason, I want to give him an excuse to touch me. To put out this fire inside me that’s still burning for him. Quench the thirst I’ve had since high school. He can’t be the guy I think he is. I don’t fall for assholes.
When he just stands over me, saying nothing, I come back down to reality. Maybe I should schedule a call with my therapist back in Washington. I clearly have issues.
“My problem is you.” His warm breath fans over my face while he stares down at me. “You coming back is fucking everything up.”
“What does that mean? I’ve never done anything to you. How does my return fuck things up for you?” My voice grows louder and more demanding, which in turn makes his eyes more ominous and smoldering.
He doesn’t say a word, just stares at me with his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.
“What did I ever do to you?” I whisper, and I hate that it comes out like a plea. Like I’m weak and unable to fight back.
Still he doesn’t respond. Now I’m really irritated. It’s fine if he has a problem with me, but at least tell me what I did. I’m not buying that it has to do with the sex tape scandal and me working on Ford’s campaign.
The elevator dings and I glance up at the number.
Sixty-eight.
“Excuse me.” I motion for him to move, but he doesn’t, so I use my hands to push him back. They hit the hard wall of his chest and I bring them back like I just touched a hot iron. Thankfully he doesn’t fight me or stop me, stepping out of the way.
I don’t spare him a glance while I stalk out into Ford’s foyer.
I feel his eyes on me. Calculated and patient like a tiger ready to strike on its prey. I rush inside, leaning against the wall in the living room once I’m out of view and breathing a sigh of relief.
I squeeze my eyes shut, regaining my equilibrium.
Garrin wants to play some mind game and pretend I did him wrong? Fine. Let’s play.
8
Chapter Eight
Garrin
After a quick shower that felt more like a torture chamber until I stopped trying to imagine any other woman besides Isla to beat off to, I head down to the Titans’ Lounge, hoping to catch all the guys. Someone was obviously down there earlier, when I caught Isla coming up to Ford’s place. With all that sexual tension overflowing in the elevator, she’s lucky I didn’t follow her right into Ford’s condo because she might have loved my hands on her for a moment, but regrets would have spawned instantaneously.
She shouldn’t be wandering around our building unescorted.
It shouldn’t have felt like a knife in the gut when she pressed the button for Ford’s floor. Ford obviously falsely believes I want Isla—otherwise, why would he bring her here as payback for me stealing his date? Would he really fuck her on the regular just to screw with me?
My hands clench at my sides.
“Jesus,” I mutter and push my hands through my hair. Get a fucking grip, Stone.
When I step off the elevator, everyone’s there except for Ryker.
“Someone call Ryker and tell him to get his ass down here. We need to talk.” I stalk through the large room over to the bar.
“Hello to you too,” Asher says from where he’s bent over the pool table, about to take his shot.
“I’m serious.” I don’t spare them a