Fair Game (The Rules #1)(33)

“So I don’t take advantage of drunk girls.”

She starts laughing. “I find that hard to believe.”

Jesus. This whole having a reputation thing is a real pain in the ass. “Maybe I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The laughter stops. “Why? Am I that disgusting? A few hours with me and you realize your mistake?”

“I never said that.”

“You may as well have. I should be happy about this turn of events, right? I hate you. I don’t want you.” She dips her head, I see all of that gorgeous red hair fall forward out of the corner of my eye, obscuring her face. “I guess you don’t want me either.”

Without thought I hit the brakes hard and pull the car over to the curb, my tires squealing. She lifts her head, her wide gaze meeting mine, her lips parting to come up with some quick protest or quip, I’m sure, but I cut her off.

“You really think I don’t want you?”

She gapes at me, appearing at a complete loss for words. A miracle moment I should note.

“Really?” I goad, wanting to hear her answer so I can prove her wrong.

So f*cking wrong.

I stare at Shep, shocked by the incredulous anger in his thunderous features. God, he looks good right now. Like, extra good, all angry and sexy and intense. His hair is a mess from running his fingers through it—and it’s super soft, I know this because I touched his hair, sunk my fingers in all that incredible softness. Rubbed myself all over him like a cat in heat, kissed his delicious neck.

Who knew a neck could be so delicious? And smell so good? Who knew that delicious neck could belong to someone like Shep? A guy I supposedly despise.

“I—I don’t know w-what to th-think,” I stutter, pressing my lips together and feeling stupid. He’s making me so freaking nervous. The air in the car is charged, filled with electricity that seems to bounce between us and I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin when he touches me, his fingers drifting across my knee and making me shiver.

“Then you’re drunker than I thought because I want you so f*cking much it’s killing me,” he murmurs, his voice low and so incredibly deep I feel it between my legs where I’m throbbing.

For him.

“But I’m not going to do anything to you tonight,” he continues, crashing all my hopes and dreams with a few choice words. “You won’t remember it and that would be a f*cking shame. Or worse, tomorrow you’ll regret it, tell me you were drunk and you would’ve never let me touch you or kiss you or f*ck you. So screw all that. I want you just as into this as I am. Nothing less.”

His little speech lights up everything inside me, making me ache. I ache so bad for him, I don’t remember ever feeling like this for anyone else. No other guy. No one.

He wants me just as into this as he is. What does that mean? That he’s into me? That he likes and wants…me? After everything I’ve said and done? I told him I hated him only minutes ago. He should be beyond frustrated with my immature antics.

I may as well keep it up though, right? Stay consistent?

“So you won’t even kiss me?” I ask, my voice small, my humiliation knowing no bounds. It’s like the words fall from my lips without thought. No way would I ever say something like this to him sober. I totally blame the vodka.

He sends me a heated look, one that completely steals my breath. “You want me to kiss you?”

Yes, yes, yes. A million times yes, pretty please with your sugared lips on top of mine.

I shrug, wishing I could tear my gaze from his but I…can’t. “Well, yeah. If you want.”

The man actually has the nerve to laugh. “If I want, she says.” He shakes his head and looks down, the sight of the wry smile curling his perfect lips making me feel a little wild, a little out of control. Like I want to throw myself at him and see if he’d catch me. I think he would. Scratch that. I know he would. I can feel it in my bones. “You just said you hated me.”

“Um.” I swallow hard, feeling twenty times the fool for making that statement. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Uh huh.” He inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling in this magical way that has me staring. His chest is really broad. And hard. His entire body is hard. I should know, since I tried to climb him only a few minutes ago. “I shouldn’t.”

Ugh. His refusal of me is starting to give me a complex. His speech about wanting me to remember everything is ringing false. Maybe he finds me repulsive. I was a total bitch the entire night so I can’t blame him. Besides, isn’t this what I want? To be rid of Shep Prescott once and for all?

No. Don’t bother lying to yourself. You want him. And it makes you crazy.

“Why shouldn’t you?” I ask.

“I already told you why.” He removes his hand from my knee and I feel the loss of his touch. “Let’s get you home.”

“No.” I give in to my urges and lunge at him, throwing my body on top of his. He lets out a surprised grunt, his hands landing on my waist as I readjust myself so I’m straddling him in the driver’s seat, my knees on either side of his hips, my skirt riding up so high I’m probably flashing my panties.

But I don’t care. I’m drunk and my head is spinning. Being in such close quarters with Shep is a heady feeling. His big hands slide to my hips, our panting breaths mingle together. I brace my hands on the seat just above his head and look down at him to find he’s staring in fascination at my chest, which is mere inches away from his mouth.