Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(16)

He starts walking over. I stare at my nails, exhaling. I can’t continue ignoring him because suddenly he’s standing right in front of me. I also need him. I asked him to come home with me and still haven’t told him why. My gaze fastens on his worn sneakers, before sliding up his denim-clad thighs, up a body that any woman would die to feel above her.

Am I seriously thinking these things?

Okay, Elizabeth, you need an orgasm, or you’ll attack the first hot guy you meet.

But this guy isn’t hot; he’s more like . . . raw and primal. The sexiest guy I’ve ever met.

I blow out a hard breath and realize he hears me, all while this undeniable need wells up inside of me. It’s there not because I’m basically looking for “any” man, but because I’m looking for the “perfect” man.

I have high expectations.

“Take off your glasses.” His voice is low and deep, and this close, it makes a little flutter of nervousness race through my system.

“Excuse me?” I lift my head.

“Take off your glasses, and look at me.”

Wow. The nerve of him! I bristle, but I pull my glasses off all the same. His eyes are so blue it’s like I’m swimming in a Tahitian sea.

“You’re giving me a hard-on of the kind I never ignore. I want to fuck you well and deep—and I think by the look in your eyes, you wouldn’t object. So why don’t you show me your bed, and we get right down to it?”

I know I’m attractive. Sometimes men approach me with some lines like Do you have the time? Can I have your phone number? I think I’ve seen you before. But wow, this one? Way too blunt. We’ll definitely need to work on his subtlety. He managed to both get my attention and piss me off in just a couple of seconds.

My palm itches at my side. He smiles slowly. I’m sure women fall at his feet willingly when he says such things.

I try to remind myself that I am not just any woman. I am Elizabeth Banks, and he’s . . . someone I picked up in a trashy bar.

He thinks he’s getting laid.

I should lay him out.

Instead, I paint on a look of real interest, stand, and tell him, “Sit.”

He chuckles, seems a little wary, but eventually sits and watches me with more brewing interest than before.

“So, you do anything for a bet?”

I butt my hips against my desk and wait with my arms crossed. It’s deliberate. I want to look unapproachable, professional. More importantly, I want him to see me as a woman in control.

“Don’t worry about the money. I was kidding last night. I don’t fuck for money. This one’s for me.”

I eye him, my heart pounding as I shoot him a look of disgust. “I have no intention of hitting the sack with you.”

“Don’t you.” It isn’t a question because he doesn’t believe me. “Okay then.” Amusement curves his wicked lips again.

“In case you haven’t noticed . . . these are designer heels. This is a Frida, a totally authentic designer. I’m the sort of woman who selects only the best,” I go on.

“You’ll never find the best—nobody will ever reach that standard. Which explains why you’re so starved.”

“Excuse me . . .”

He cocks his head, surveying me as he slowly stands.

“What . . . ?” I press.

“You’re parched, and I can sate this thirst.”

I don’t believe him because I saw the women at Tim’s Bar. They weren’t there for the drinks and good service. Those crooning broads were there for him.

One taste of pleasure from this guy, and I’d probably grovel for more.

Leaving insatiable women in his wake? That’s this guy’s game.

He walks forward. I put my arms out to stop his catlike approach, and I quickly slide away from him, sure that I can’t take his touch, not here and now, not when I’m dressed for the corporate world and planning to tackle the day with the confidence and luck of a pariah. “Don’t do that. I can’t think when you do that.”

“Then don’t think.” He reaches out for me, and I spin away.

“Whoa. Stay right there. Halt!”

He narrows his eyes, and I whisper, “Let’s discuss this business proposition that I have for you. An offer.”

“I have a sweet proposition, too, a sweet suggestion of my own. Want to hear it?”

God damn him and that sexy smirk!

“No.” But I do. I so fucking do. Instead of giving him the opportunity, I say, “It’s going to take some effort, but if you can do all those stunts you do, then you can do this as well.”

“Want to know what else I can do well?”

Frustrated, I say, “That’s understood.”

“What is?”

“Look. I get that you’re good. I’m sure you’re very skilled in all the ways that matter.” Jeanine always says to feed a man’s ego. “Now can we move on?”

“If we can move to your bedroom.”

“We can’t.” Not yet. Refusing to acknowledge the flush creeping up my cheeks, I continue, “But you need to act the opposite of your usual self.”

He looks offended. “What do you know about my usual self?”

“Plenty. I’m a good judge of character.”