Page 34 of Dirty Rival

“Never mind. I get it. You work for him. Thank you anyway. I have three men to fire. I’ll text you when it’s done. Goodnight.”

“Carrie.”

“Yes?”

“Talk to Reid.”

“Talking is what we don’t do together.”

“I’ll talk to him. Text me.” He hangs up.

I dial the first of the three thieves, and it’s all quite easy. “You’re fired. You know why.” Those three words work all three times. Lucky threes. I text Royce: It’s done. And with that, I’m a ball of nerves that has me changing into leggings and sneakers for a run, my way of calming my mind. I pop in my headphones, turn on a music mix, and head downstairs. Once I step out into the now inky night, the touristy crowd has thinned out and I make my way to the sidewalk, running along the ocean and all the buildings. I skip my stretches, which will give my mind time to get the best of me.

I take off running, cranking up my music, and still, I’m in my head. I’m back in Reid’s office. I’m reliving every moment with him. I thought—God, what did I think? It was hate sex and nothing more, and yet when it was over, he didn’t want to let me go. I felt it. I didn’t want to let him go. And then he did, and I still don’t know why I want him at all. I think more of myself than to sleep with a man that—

I run into someone and gasp as Reid catches my arms, and he too is in running clothes, sweats, and a T-shirt. “Are you stalking me now?” I demand. “Was investigating and fucking me not enough?”

“No,” he says. “That’s the problem. It’s not.” He’s barely spoken the words and his hand is cupping my head, his mouth closing down on mine, his tongue licking against my tongue and I want to resist. No. I try to resist, but there is something about Reid. Something that calls to me even as he punishes me, tries to control me and generally treats me like shit. I want this man, and I can’t stop the want. I sink into the kiss, and he moans, like he needs this as much as I do, his hand flattening between my shoulder blades, molding my chest to his.

I am lost in this man, how he feels, how he smells, every lick of his tongue and then suddenly, he’s lacing his fingers with my fingers. “Come on,” he says, stroking a hand over my hair and caressing my cheek.

I’m dazed by the gentle touch to the point that when he starts walking I follow, but a blast of ocean air has me blinking into reality, digging my heels in, and tugging against his hand. “Wait,” I say, pulling him around to face me. “Where are we going?”

“My place.”

His place.

Yes.

No.

“No,” I say, rejecting how close I am to letting this man own me in all ways. “No. I’m not going to your place.”

“Then we’ll go to yours.” He starts walking.

“No,” I say, trying to dig in my heels again, but he keeps walking. “No!”

He rotates to face me and before I know his intent, he’s kissing me again, and damn it, I want him to kiss me again. I don’t resist. I melt into him. I kiss him back. And when he pulls back and strokes my hair again, he says, “We need to be alone.”

My hand firms on his chest. “Alone is the last thing we need to be. I can’t do this, Reid. I won’t do this.”

“It doesn’t seem to me that either of us has a choice.”

“You,” I say, “have many choices, many of which involve me. I have two. Stay or go. And right now, I’m going.”

“Let’s go talk,” he says. “Just talk.”

“We won’t talk. We’ll fight or fuck, and neither of those things work in my favor. Let me go, Reid, or I swear to you I’ll start screaming.”

“We both know you won’t do that.” His eyes harden. “But if that’s what you want, I’ll let you go.” He does. He lets me go and I should be pleased, but I’m not. I hate that he let go. I hate he didn’t fight me on this as much as he fights me on everything else, but why would he? It’s a fuck. He, no doubt, has a proverbial black book of women. He’s Reid-fucking-Maxwell.

I step around him and start walking, steady and controlled though I don’t feel controlled at all. I feel the weight of his attention, of him watching my every step, and when I reach the corner, I tell myself not to turn, but I do. I turn, and I find him at the railing dividing us from the ocean, his hands on the steel bars, his head lowered. As if I’ve affected him. As if the unbreakable Reid Maxwell has a crack in his steel. I don’t know why I want to believe it matters, or that I matter. The truth is, he isn’t a man that knows rejection. I’m a rejection to him and rejection has to be conquered. I can’t forget that. I am nothing but a conquest to this man in all ways. I admire that in him, but I hate it, too. I turn away and start walking. I hate him and yet, I don’t.

I don’t hate him.

And that’s a problem, a weakness. And a weakness is not something I can allow myself to have with a man like Reid Maxwell. All he can see is me meeting him head to head, conquering him as he tries to conquer me. And I will, just not tonight, and not with his mouth all over me.

Chapter sixteen

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