Page 9 of Negotiating Tactics

“As I explained, I’m not an intruder,” he said.

“Well, how would I know that?” I asked.

I felt a little bit bad about hitting him, but that feeling was evaporating with every single moment.

And the embarrassment was settling in.

“Why are you here?” He mercifully turned his attention from me and closed the refrigerator door.

“Why are you here?” I parroted before I could stop myself.

Though he wasn’t looking at me, I could see his profile and saw the scowl that twisted his rough features.

It was not an unfamiliar expression, even though I’d only met the man twice.

Once at Birdie’s wedding, where he’d attended the church ceremony and stayed at the reception just long enough to not be rude—though I doubted he cared what anyone thought.

And the first time, oddly enough, had been at my apartment.

Those circumstances had been much different, and my initial opinion of him, one he had reinforced at the wedding, came back.

It really was a shame.

Noah wasn’t classically handsome, not by a long shot. His features were rough, but he had an undeniable charisma and magnetism.

Unfortunate that the two times I’d met him, he’d been a fucking jerk.

And this time…

He’d shaved years off my life with this little stunt, so I wasn’t in the mood to be charitable.

“Alex,” he said, turning to face me.

His gaze was locked on my face, his eyes so dark they looked almost pupilless.

The way he stared at me, coupled with his overwhelming physical presence, was having an effect on me.

I told myself it was just the adrenaline working through my system, that my nipples tightening to hard little points, that the slickness gathering between my thighs had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He let out a breath that made his nostrils flare ever so slightly, and I couldn’t even try to pretend that he had missed my reaction.

His gaze raked my body, reminding me of my state of undress, and it was only pure pride that kept me from running out of the room.

As he looked me up and down, I mentally catalogued those parts of myself that I’d accepted but that he—and most of the men I’d encountered—would categorize as flaws.

Breasts that were plump but sagged, a narrow waist that showcased my rounded stomach, hips and ass to spare, and thick, thick thighs.

Determined to give as good as I got, I stared at him as he stared at me.

I noticed the long lashes and full lips that were the only hint of softness on his face.

Shoulders broad enough to make me feel dainty, something I’d never experienced before.

Sculpted chest and stomach under a tight black T-shirt.

Tree trunk legs that looked to be carved out of granite.

I looked up quickly to meet his eyes again, which was a mistake.

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