Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(25)

I’m excited for him to take a bite. Not that my life’s goal is for him to have a delicious sandwich, but I like the idea that he’ll see I’m right. I’m showing him that I’m superior. I’m in charge of the entire world. I’m X-ing that box off like a boss!

He stands. Gives me a hard look.

Max was always much taller than me, maybe that’s why he stands. To intimidate me from across the room.

Shivers go over me. Does he think he can intimidate me? Or is it more than that?

He comes around his desk.

I swallow. “Try it, you’ll like it.”

He keeps coming at me, eyes on mine.

My skin tightens as he nears. This process is getting more exciting by the second. “I’m telling you that this is the one you’ll like best. I’ve chosen it for you.”

He keeps coming until he’s right in front of me. I gaze up into his eyes, awash in a feeling of hilarity and something else—a strange alertness. My nipples strain at the fabric of the cat suit. What’s up with the AC in this place?

“Do you want to get fired? Is that it?” he grumbles.

My heart is basically banging out of my chest at this point. I swallow with difficulty. “No, I don’t want to get fired. I’m telling you what sandwich you want.”

Emotion flares in his eyes.

It’s been forever since I’ve been this close to Max. Forever since I studied the stray brown fleck in one of his otherwise intensely blue eyes, pale at the center, like a ring of ice formed in there.

“You’re telling me what sandwich I want,” he gusts out, his words like feathers on my forehead.

“That’s right, Max. It’s the sandwich,” I enunciate sassily, “that you want.”

“If I’d wanted it,” he says, “don’t you think I would’ve had it?”

“Not necessarily,” I say, “being that you have no idea of how amazing it is. All that you’ve missed out on. So sad…”

Something in the way he looks at me changes; his nostrils flare, and for a crazy second, I think he’s going to kiss me.

For a crazy second, I want him to. I’m the amazing one, I think. I’m the one you missed out on.

The moment stretches on. I don’t know where we’ve gone, but the sandwich is nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly he straightens. He turns and walks the few feet back to his desk, him and his perfect suit.

I stand there gawking, thinking he probably requests his suits be made a little too tight through the shoulders in order to give the optical illusion of a perfect body, strong and lithe and predatorial like a lion, accentuated by the finest fabric. Only the best will do when it comes to kissing and cupping Max Hilton’s muscular torso as he prowls his office.

He grabs the sandwich and turns, leans back, butt against the desk, eyes boring into mine. Then he takes a bite, eyes never leaving mine.

My stomach tightens as he chews.

I have a lot of customers to attend to, a lot more tips to get for myself. I have the Edgar building next. If I take too long, people will be mad.

But none of that matters.

I’m furious with excitement and something that feels strangely like happiness.

He chews, looking deliberative.

And then his gaze drops to the sandwich.

He thinks it’s delicious—I can tell. I feel like my smile might crack my face. “Right?”

He looks back up. Narrows his eyes.

“Oh, snap,” I say. “Who’s your daddy?”

He snorts, and for a second, he’s not my enemy. For a second, it feels amazing to have introduced him to this sandwich, one of my personal favorites. He dabs the sides of his mouth with a napkin.

“The sandwich that you want.”

He watches me. Battling with himself, no doubt. Trying to find some loophole where it’s not true, maybe.

“Right? Admit it.”

“Why is it so important to you?”

Before I know what I’m doing, I go to him, enter his force field of smooth, suave perfection. I have this crazy feeling like I need to break through it. “Because people should admit things.”

“Yeah?” he says. One word. Voice calm like steel.

“So delicious. Oh, the deliciousness that you’ve been missing!”

I’m joking around, but his stern gaze is locked on mine in a way that’s anything but jokey.

The floor seems to dip beneath my feet.

Slowly, without warning, he reaches up and touches the side of my face—one lone fingertip. A featherlight touch that sizzles.

He holds my gaze with those eyes, the bluest of blue with that pale ring of ice, and slowly draws his fingertip along the edge of my jaw, heading for my chin.

I feel like he’s looking into my soul with those eyes.

The air thickens between us. My sex turns molten with excitement.

I should laugh at him and push his hand away, but it’s the last thing I want. Don’t stop is more my thinking.

I’m nearly panting by the time he reaches my chin, but his wicked finger isn’t finished. It’s a knuckle now, and it’s reversing course, slowly trailing backwards across my hyper-sensitive cheek.

I’m dizzy with the gentle sweetness of his touch, like he’s petting a tiny wild bird.

Neither of us says a word, as though that might break the spell.