Worth the Risk(32)

Over and over.





He’s a caged tiger.

That’s all I can think when I look at him and his broad shoulders, clenched fists, and anger. Waves of anger are rolling off him.

I stare at him with so much to say in my mind, but every part of my body is stunned by the kisses he just numbed me with.

“Are you happy, Sidney? Isn’t this what you wanted?” His voice thunders in the small space but is drowned out by the buzz of the bar on the other side of the door. “Manipulate me? Paint me into a corner so I have to say yes or risk looking like a goddamn fool? So, I’ll say yes. Yes. I have no other choice. You win. You fucking took the cake. You made me want you when I didn’t want to want you. Bet you didn’t count on that with your little game, huh?” He takes a step toward me, his lips back on mine without preamble. He tastes of beer and anger, and just as quickly as my body reacts to him, he breaks from the kiss. “What are you going to do about that now?”

He leans back, one hand possessive on the nape of my neck as his eyes bore into mine. Searching. Asking. Wanting. Not wanting to admit.

Then, as soon as I see the fear that glances through his eyes, his hands are off me. He yanks the door open, shunting me forward, and he slams it closed behind him, leaving me in the dimly lit office.

“Well, shit.” I laugh; its nervous sound echoes in the empty office as I bring my fingertips to my lips and try to figure out what in the world just happened.

My hands tremble, and I stand there in shocked indecision. Did he really just do that? Did he really just blame me for making him want me and then kiss me senseless?

My first thought is to be pissed at him. No man gets to take without asking. No man gets to kiss me and put the blame on me.

My second thought is . . . the man can have anything he wants if he kisses like that.

Get a grip, Sid.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? This? This, I did not see coming. I may have gone along with Rissa’s plan to manipulate him into a corner, I may have just gotten him to participate, but apparently, I’d gotten a whole hell of a lot more from Grayson Malone than a few pictures and a short bio.

With my back against the door, I try to figure out how I should feel and what I should do.

I should be mad at him, shouldn’t I? But then I shift my feet and feel the ache between my thighs. For a girl always sure of herself, he just threw me into water that was way over my head and told me I needed to figure out how to swim.

Sure, he just gave me what I wanted—secured my job by saying he’ll be an active participant in the contest—but at what cost?

I should walk out into the bar, say goodbye to Rissa, and head home. Walk away from the moment, calm down, and figure it out later when I’m by myself and can process it all without everything about him clouding my senses.

I take a deep breath and yank the door open with every intention of doing just that.

But when I exit the hallway into the main bar area, he’s across the way, arm slung over another woman’s shoulder, his head thrown back in laughter, and one of the tails of his shirt untucked from where my hands ripped it from his waistband. He may look calm as can be, but I can sense the edge beneath. I still taste it on my tongue.

Go home, Sidney.

I’ve had too much to drink, and I don’t want to do anything stupid. I need to walk my pretty little heels out that door and shake this all off.

It’s then that he looks up and meets my stare. It’s the subtle lift of his chin. The arrogance in his slight smirk.

And my temper lights.

I stalk over to him, the sound of my heels punctuating every step I take. My pulse pounds in my ears. My anger spins an eddy of discord.

The bar takes notice as people part to make room for me without asking.

With each step closer, his smirk grows smugger.

Bastard.

When I reach him, he unloops his arm from around the woman’s neck and takes a step toward me. The cocksure look on his face slowly falls.

Without a word, I step into him and grab the back of his neck, pulling his face down toward mine.

And then I kiss him.

A no-holds-barred, greedy, take-what-I-want kind of kiss that both dizzies me and lights every part of me with the desire he stoked moments ago.

He’s stunned at first. At least, I think he is, because I’m so busy giving him the revenge kiss to rival all revenge kisses that I don’t even pay attention.

Then his lips are moving.

His tongue is reacting.

His body goes from tense to pliant.

When the outside world seeps through my anger, when the hoots and the hollers break through my thoughts and yank my attention from the devastation of his kiss, I jolt back a step.

A thousand comments race through my mind as I stare at him.

I didn’t manipulate you.

I want you, too.

You don’t get to walk away without a fight.

I say none of them. I stand there with my chest heaving and the crowd staring and begin to feel like a complete idiot.

“Gotta admire a woman who’ll go to extremes to get what she wants.” His voice is a quiet rumble against the noise of the bar, and yet, I hear every single word.

“That kiss had nothing to do with the contest.”

“What did it have to do with, then?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have a choice. You always have a choice,” I finally say through gritted teeth as heat flushes my cheeks. “And don’t ever do that to me again.”