Asking for Trouble (Line of Duty #4)(2)

She tried once more to comfort Daniel. “You know Story. She probably stopped to pet every puppy between here and the school. She’s easily distracted.”

Daniel leaned back in his chair, eyelids drooping a little, transforming before her eyes into the playboy he resembled. “Don’t I know it?”

Satisfied that she’d taken his mind off the possibility her best friend hated her new job, Hayden took another sip of wine and continued to ignore Brent’s unwavering gaze. She hated it when he did this. Fixated on her and refused to look away. He looked like a hungry wolf stalking a lamb. As though he also couldn’t wait for the opportunity to tell her once again how pampered and pointless he found her posh, Upper West Side lifestyle.

Daniel, all restless energy once again, hopped up from the table. “You guys want another drink? I’m buying.”

“I’ll come with you,” Matt said, shooting a knowing look between Brent and Hayden.

The second Daniel and Matt moved out of earshot toward the bar, Hayden’s glass clunked down on the table. “Could you try just a pinch harder to be less of a spectacular *? He’s worried enough. You don’t need to make it worse with your douche-bag sorcery.”

“I’m making it worse? Why don’t you sew his name into his underwear and send him off to summer camp?” He tilted his head. “Not all of us had nannies growing up. Some of us can take care of ourselves.”

She felt her neck flush as the barb struck home, but she refused to let her reaction show on her face. It would be a cold day in hell before she let him know how much being summed up as a helpless socialite bothered her. “There’s a time and a place for insults. Learn the difference, dickhead.”

Brent leaned across the table, his jaw tight. “I don’t need lessons on how to talk to my friend.”

“Disagree. I think you need lessons on quite a few things.”

If she’d blinked, she would have missed the telltale tic in his cheek, a sign she’d come to recognize as his temper stirring. Brent might be lacking in polite social skills and empathy, but he made up for it in pride. “Yeah? And who’s going to teach me those lessons? You?”

His expression transformed with the sensual challenge, and he drawled the final word with such skepticism, her spine went rigid. Dammit, he always made it sexual. He knew it shut her down. Forced her to back off. She could throw around insults with the best of them—just not about sex. Though she was far from a blushing virgin, she’d never hit her stride in that department. When she dated, it was usually to keep her mother off her back. The dates very rarely ended up in bed. And if they did end up “shaking the sheets,” it frequently ended in disappointment.

Hayden couldn’t quite put her finger on what she needed. She just knew she needed more. Not love. No, no. Nor did she want polite sex. Or affectionate sex. She needed something…else.

“What’s wrong, rich girl?” Brent grinned and sipped his beer. “Afraid you’d like it too much?”

“No,” she responded a little too quickly. “I’m afraid you would like it too much and I’d never get rid of your lumbering ass.”

Hayden’s mouth snapped shut. It was the first time she’d ever responded to one of his endless sexual innuendos in kind. She tried not to panic when he did an interested double take.

“Is that right?”

She raised her chin in response, frowning when his gaze briefly landed on her lips.

“How…exactly…would you make me like it, duchess?”

A sarcastic brush-off sat poised on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. This game had gotten old and he’d grown too sure of himself. A new idea began to formulate in her mind. One Brent wouldn’t see coming. She’d call his bluff. He insisted on turning their arguments sexual to quiet her down? He didn’t think the spoiled debutante could keep up? Well, this time she’d see just how far he was willing to take the game. Not far, she guessed. Hoped. The idea of voluntarily touching each other had to be just as abhorrent to him. Which is exactly what she wanted.

Tonight, they’d finally declare a winner of this ongoing battle of wits and wills.

When she unbuttoned the top two buttons on her shirt and let the material gape, Brent’s beer bottle froze halfway to his mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed a little as he glimpsed her exposed flesh. That’s right, I’m wearing my best matching underwear set, sucker. And I’m finished backing down.

Her voice dropped to a seductive purr. “It would be so much more fun to show you.”

…

Well, I’ll be damned. She’s not completely made of ice.

Brent tried not to be obvious as he shifted in his seat to accommodate the swelling flesh between his legs. Unfortunately, tonight didn’t mark the first occasion Her Highness had made him so hard he couldn’t sit still. It did, however, mark the first occasion she’d done it intentionally.

Across the table, her eyes issued an unmistakable challenge. What the hell was her game? Any other night, she would have turned her pert little nose up at his baiting question and given him her patented ice-princess frown. Something was definitely up.

Since the night they met, the two of them had mixed about as well as orange juice and toothpaste. He rigged explosives for the NYPD Emergency Service Unit. She flitted about all day organizing charity functions and dinner parties for Manhattan’s elite. He lived in a blue-collar neighborhood in Queens. She lived in a massive town house in one of the wealthiest parts of the city. He wore jeans and T-shirts. She wore tight, knee-length skirts and expensive blouses. If the circumstances were different, she would never share a table with him.