Sweet Rivalry (1001 Dark Nights)(17)

“No.” It’s one word but the audible restraint in his voice stops me in my tracks.

My gaze snaps back up to his. Notices the muscle in his jaw tick. Acknowledges the questions in his eyes. I part my lips to speak but don’t say anything because I swear to God the air around us is so electrified that anything I say is going to set it off.

“Tell me what to do, Harper.”

I’m caught off guard by my own name. The grate of his voice does funny things to my insides. And then it hits me what he just said.

Dear God. My mind fills with everything imaginable that I want him to do to me right now. With those hands of his. Those lips. That beard. And every other visible and nonvisible long, hard inch of him.

I blink and try to think of how to convert my thoughts into coherent words. I inhale unsteadily and all I do is breathe him in, and that only serves to complicate things further.

“Tell me what to do, Harper.”

He repeats the words again. Uses my name in that way he has that makes it sound like he drags it over his soul on the way out, and all I can think about is that is exactly how he sounded saying it in my dream last night. Like it hurt so good it pained him.

My chest constricts as I reconcile my fiction and reality, but the problem is he’s right in front of me. He’s tangible––slick with sweat and oozing with every damn thing I find attractive.

He’s flustered me once again.

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Open it again.

“I got off thinking about you last night.”

Oh.

My.

God.

Did I just say that out loud?

The shocked expression on his face—lips parted, eyes flickering with amused surprise––is probably nothing compared to what is reflected on my face.

“I, um—I—Oh…I’ve...” Words escape me. Thoughts are buried in the mortification. So I run. Off the elevator. Across the catwalk. As far away from having to look at him as possible.

He calls after me but I keep going.

Have to.

Just like I did before.





Chapter Nine



Ryder




This is torture.

Pure, goddamn torture.

Even knowing so, I look up to get one more taste of said torture sitting five feet in front of me. Those damn sky-high, pink heels beneath the desk taunting me just as handily as the woman wearing them.

I groan silently at the thought, shift in my seat to calm my dick down, and refocus on the figures in front of me, but not before one more glance her way. One more taste of torment.

How can I not?

She got off last night thinking about me. And that’s supposed to what? Make me not want her? Make me want her more?

What did she expect me to do after she said that to me? Just sit here five feet from her and twiddle my thumbs all day instead of wishing I was fingering her? Fucking her? Losing myself in her?

I got off thinking about you last night.

How can a sane man know this, hear those words from her mouth, and not picture the cherry red fingernails currently tapping on her keyboard sliding between the lips of her *, slipping inside of her then back out slick and wet, and not want to stare at her some more?

Either that or head to the bathroom and rub one out to calm the hell down.

But that wouldn’t satisfy me. Hell no. Not when she’s so close I can reach out and touch her. Not when I get a whiff of her perfume every time she gets up to stare at the scale model on the floor. Not when she bends over to look closer and that damn pencil skirt hugs her ass while shifting on those heels. The whole damn package has me envisioning doing so many things to her it’s not even funny.

I lift my glasses and rub my eyes—something, anything—to stop me from staring one more time.

Maybe she was lying. Maybe this is her plan. Say something like that to distract me and thus throw me off my game. Cause me to think about wanting her more than fine-tuning my numbers.

And if so, it’s working because my restraint only lasts so long. I look up again. It’s hard not to. I take in her pink cami-whatever-it’s-called with lace trim beneath that business suit of hers and think of her wearing just that.

Those heels.

And nothing else.

She glances up, our eyes holding momentarily. Enough for me to see the red flush through her cheeks before she averts her gaze and pretends like it never happened.

Nope. I’m not buying it.

She may be a ballbuster, but she’s not that calculating. Not when it comes to shit like this. She may have changed, grown more confident with age, but she’s still that shy girl underneath. I can see it when I talk to her. Maybe it’s because I knew her before that I can see it now, but it’s there. The red cheeks and flustered responses. The wide eyes and need to avoid.

Nah. It wasn’t some calculated response to throw me off my game.

She meant what she said. It was a slip of the tongue that I sure as hell want to feel for myself. She f*cking got off thinking about me.

And now I have to sit here the rest of the day with her right in front of me, thinking about exactly what she did to get herself off.

Either way, she wins in the end.

Because my thoughts are on her.





Chapter Ten



Harper




“You can’t ignore me forever.”