Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(33)

I try to hide both emotions with a coy smile. “Nice move. Setting the scene?”

In response, he drags his fingers lightly along my palm. My breath catches at the caress, but instead of looking smug, he looks intent. Thoughtful as he holds my gaze.

The server appears with the bottle of wine, but instead of releasing me, Matt continues his gentle caress, directing the server to let me be the one to do the tasting.

With my free hand, I taste the wine and declare it perfect, though truth be told, I don’t really register the flavor of the Chardonnay. I’m too aware of the man I’m sharing it with.

I clear my throat. “So what’s the plan?” I ask. “You’re going to just hold my hand until they get here?”

His gaze drops to the spot where his fingers continue their slow caress of my palm, before moving in a teasing circular motion that immediately calls to mind all the places I want his touch.

I try to jerk my hand back, but he holds it firm and looks up to study me. “You’re jumpy.”

I’m facing the front of the restaurant, and I do a quick scan to ensure Matt’s bosses haven’t come in yet. There’s no sign of them.

“Save your moves for when they’re actually here,” I say, gently extracting my hand from his.

He lets me go with a thoughtful expression, and it takes all my self-control not to ask what’s going through his head. I know how to deal with snarky Matt, charming Matt, even irritable Matt. But this version, the one with the soft eyes and secretive thoughts . . . he throws me off-balance.

I hate being off-balance.

I pick up the menu once more. “Okay, what are we getting? Do you like sushi?”

“Nope. Came to a sushi restaurant but can’t stand the stuff,” he says sarcastically.

I don’t bother to look up. “Yes, well, you came to a restaurant with a woman you can’t stand, so you’ll excuse me if I don’t take your actions at face value.”

“Who says I can’t stand you?” he asks.

I lift my gaze to his. “Um, you? Every time you look at me, snap at me, pick a fight with me . . .”

“That’s a two-way street, Ms. Cross.”

“I never said it wasn’t.”

Matt runs a hand over his face. “I swear to God, talking with you is impossible.”

“I’m happy to sit in silence until the show starts.”

“I don’t—Damn it, I don’t want to sit in silence, and I don’t want to fight.”

I set the menu back on the table with an irritated slap. “Well, it’s you and me, so silence and fighting are the only options.”

“They don’t have to be. If you weren’t so damned stubborn—”

My jaw drops. “Do not put this on me. I’m here because I signed a contract, and in no part of that contract does it say that we have to like each other. I committed to convincing others that I’m wildly in love with your playboy ways, but don’t think for one second—”

“Matt. Sabrina. We certainly seem to have the same taste in restaurants this week.”

Matt’s heated gaze snaps away from mine as we both look up to see The Sams standing over our table, along with Jarod Lanham, who looks just as put together and appealing in person as he does in pictures.

Matt recovers quickly, standing to greet them. “Nobu is definitely the best cure for sushi cravings.”

“Indeed,” Samantha says, looking torn between admiration and wariness at the fact that Matt’s so clearly manufactured a way for us to end up in their path. Again.

I give Matt a quick, deliberately shy look, as though not quite sure how he wants me to handle it, then turn my sheepish smile on them. “You must think I’m the worst influence, dragging him out for a lunch date on a workday.”

“Nonsense,” Sam says. “I have my heart set on an ice-cold martini myself. Do either of you know Jarod Lanham? Jarod, Matt Cannon’s one of our best brokers. This is Sabrina Cross, his . . .”

“Girlfriend,” I say with a self-depreciating eye roll. “Don’t mind me.”

Matt extends a hand to Jarod. “Mr. Lanham. A pleasure.”

Jarod Lanham’s an attractive man—tall and lean, with a strong jawline to balance out his otherwise narrow features. Dark hair with just the slightest gray at the temples that promises excellent silver-fox potential. And when he smiles, like he’s doing now, the laugh lines and straight white teeth flashing against tanned skin make him even more appealing.

“Mr. Cannon.” He shakes Matt’s hand. “Of Wall Street Journal fame.”

I keep myself from wincing. Barely. The Sams’ poker faces aren’t as good. Sam visibly flinches, and Samantha’s eyes close in brief exasperation.

Matt’s shoulders stiffen slightly, but he keeps his expression friendly and lets out an easy laugh. “Ha, yes. Note to self: check for cameras when attending a bachelor party.”

“You should party with me sometime,” Jarod says. “No cameras. Plenty of private entertainment.”

The billionaire’s dark eyes drift my way as he says it, and though I’m braced for a smarmy, smug dismissal, his gaze is frank and assessing.

And appreciative.

I’ve been around long enough to know when a man likes what he sees, and I’ve definitely gotten the stamp of approval from Jarod Lanham.