Page 8 of When I Had You

It’s gone, but unfortunately, he looks better with a little anger fired in his eyes. I tear my gaze away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my attention. But I steal one last glimpse at him before returning to stare at my feet because I failed to notice just how attractive this man is despite the time we spent together earlier.

When he took his helmet off the first time I saw him, my breath choked in my throat. His hair was not as dark as I expected. His features were stronger. His eyes are lighter but not so pale that it’s creepy when held in his arms under the moonlight. A shiver runs up my spine thinking about that scene I filmed with Corbin by the lake. I couldn’t see his pupils, and it freaked me out. Maybe that was the turning point.

As for this jerk, why does he have to be so attractive? Ugh. Jerks usually are. Remember that, Marina.

At least I know how to handle him. I look at him again, really look, noticing the slight lines that make him seem more rugged, a little wilder, as if age has anything to do with it.

“Do you always blush around men you detest?”

His cadence isn’t clipped like this afternoon, but I’m not interested in making nice, much less sharing small talk with him. My hand still flies to my cheek as if to check for the lie he’s telling.

My heated skin defends him like the traitor it is. And then my manners get the best of me. Clutching my small bag in front of me, I keep my eyes trained on my shoes, careful not to meet his eyes again, or I will be more flushed than I am already. “I’m not blushing.”

My gaze darts to the reflection in front of me only to have any semblance of a clever comeback denied. Dammit. There is absolutely no reason to blush around this man when he does nothing but irritate me. “It’s just hot in here,” I add, though who doth protest is so guilty of blushing.

“Is it?” he muses. “I’m quite comfortable.”

“I bet you are.” What am I doing? I clamp down on my tongue to keep from continuing this ridiculous conversation.

“I’m not sure what I did—”

“You broke my phone.” I turn around, looking him dead in the eyes. “Are you buying me a new one?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes before his wry grin stretches across his face. “No. I was going to say I’m not sure what I did to make you hate me. Accidents happen, so I’m confused by the dramatics.”

My jaw slacks open. “You have got to be kidding me. Dramatics?” Whipping a finger in the air in front of his smug face, I say, “First of all—”

Ding.

The elevator doors slide open. Naturally, the universe rescues him. “Saved by the bell.”

“I don’t need saving.” He walks past me without so much as a courtesy glance. “I can handle anything you dish out, sweetheart.”

I’m stuck trailing him, so I quick step to catch up. “That’s funny. You couldn’t handle sharing the limelight with a cell phone. Is that why you knocked it out of my hand? We all suffer from insecurity, but you can only tackle it when you admit the problem.”

He stops, but my heels are so high that I stumble forward and slam into a hard wall of muscle, a.k.a. his back. With my cheek pressed to his suit like I’m now a part of the design, I run my hand over the fabric because I can appreciate a well-made suit on a man. It’s one of my weaknesses, that and the opposite, a man in a great pair of casual jeans and a T-shirt. I can be complicated at times and a bit indecisive.

I push off in horror because it’s still Cash Ryatt, jerk extraordinaire, wearing said fine suit. The safety of an arm wraps around me, a large hand covering the bare skin of my lower back. “Steady there, princess.”

He turns around too fast for me to escape, holding me close as if we’re on a date. I know better than to fall for a bad boy, but I don’t take his warmth for granted. Instead, I savor it and dive deep into the Mediterranean waters of his green eyes, my body easing under the deliriously enchanting scent of trees after a heavy rain, the ocean under the cover of a dense fog, and something musky that makes me weak in the knees.

I hate myself just a little for being so easy to please. A tailored suit, great cologne, and strong hands are all it takes for me to destroy my stance against him.

I look up again, only to be met by the intensity of his gaze and a heavy breath releasing from his chest. My own breath is caught in my throat as I find myself still in his arms, savoring the feeling of being engulfed by him and his enrapturing scent.

But it doesn’t matter how good he smells. He’s not someone I need to be entangled with. It doesn’t matter how gorgeous he is, how broad his shoulders are, or how good it feels to have someone hold me like I’m precious to their survival. Or it shouldn’t. What the hell am I doing?

I remove myself from his hold that frees me too easily, if I’m being honest, and take several steps away from him. I need to clear my mind from the clouds my head is stuck in when I’m too close to him. Dusting my hands over the front of my dress, I raise my chin. “I’m,” I start, my head still spinning a bit from the Cash-induced euphoria. “I’m fine.” I clear my throat, worried that my tone will give away a weakness of mine. “Perfectly fine.”

He pauses in front of me, his gaze dipping down and soaking me in from head to toe. “We could share a car.”

Snapped back to reality, I should be surprised that he’s so forward, yet I’m not somehow. “I have plans that don’t involve you.”

He narrows his eyes, his brows pushing together. “Figured since we’re both going—” He grins with a chuckle, scraping his fingers over a freshly shaven jawline. “Never mind.”

“Never mind?” I hate that I feed my curiosity. Why do I indulge his whims? “You know what? I don’t want to know.” I wave him off and am already on my way through the hotel. “Have a good night,” I call over my shoulder without so much as looking back. I won’t tell him that I’m hightailing it away because he’s so freaking attractive or that I can still smell his cologne lingering on my nostrils from face-planting into him. I definitely won’t mention not looking back because my body still buzzes from my contact with him. I’m not mad about any of that—the trip I took into his back or his scent making me weak all over for him—because it feels good to feel this alive again, even with the sensory overload of that man.

If only available and less insufferable men could make me feel like this . . .

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