Page 141 of The Last Good Man

I suck in a breath and try again.

“I am not mad at you. In fact, I have not even thought about you,” I say evenly this time.

“Mm-hmm.”

I swat his chest again.

“Don’t do that. Please,” I say.

“You stop doing that. It gets my dick hard,” he says, looking down at my body with a lip rolled under his teeth.

“I don’t like it when you’re messing with me.”

“There’s nomessing with you, babe,” he says, lifting his gleaming gazeand making me melt.

“You said things to me,” I finger his chest, my gesture making him cross his arms over his pecs and widen his stance.

A couple of men stride past us while the people in the back return to the bar.

“Go on.”

“You gave me mixed messages,” I say, pressing my finger against his chest again.

He keeps his composure for about two seconds before a grin spreads across his lips.

“What did you expect me to do?” he asks.

I look at him wordless.

“Join your loser boyfriends' cartel?” he adds.

“Oh, Mr. Touchy. Was that what it was?”

“No,” he says, pricking my inflated ego. “I had work to do. I was out of town and came back last night.”

That has the zing of truth.

“You could’ve said something.”

“Really? Am I accountable to you now? Last time I checked, you and I weren’t a good fit.”

He got me again. The more time we spend together, the more I fumble.

“We aren’t a good fit,” I say, frustration beaming in my voice.

“I beg to differ,” he says, erasing the space between us, propping his hand against the wall, and pushing his touch down. “This,” he says, cupping my breast and brushing his thumb over my beaded nipple, “is at odds with what you just said.”

Are we doing this in public now?

No way.

I push his hand away.

“I’m not looking for sex.”

His other hand goes up the wall, caging me in.

“Right. Because you have sex so often?”

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