Page 2 of Cocky Tech God

Right. The faux pas. I had been waiting for this to come back to haunt me, but I wanted to play with him, continue this cat and mouse game. So, I leaned on my elbow against the bar and bit my bottom lip.

“Hmm…” I lifted my gaze to the ceiling, purring the sound between my lips. “I can’t say I have any idea what you’re talking about.”

He narrowed his gaze, a smirk on his lips. I loved messing with him. I knew exactly what he was talking about. About a month ago, at the end of a conference call that I thought Mia, my business partner and best friend, had disconnected from, I spilled my true feelings about Hansen. Or what I wanted from him. But the thing was, the phone line had not been disconnected, and he heard every single word of the fantasy I had for him. Now, any person would be mortified, but I took it as more fuel for our flirtation. He must have taken it more seriously. As if it might actually happen.

I’d have to set him straight.

“I don’t know why you don’t call me Hans. All my friends do.” He lifted his eyebrows, drawing my attention up to his perfectly styled dark hair.

I met his eyes again. “But are we really friends, though? Friends call each other, talk about life. Have happy hours. Bail each other out of jail…”

“Ahhh…” He grazed the back of my hand with his warm, electric finger, zapping me with wanton need. His curled smile had my total attention. “I didn’t know you were on the other side of the law. I’d bail you out of jail, no questions asked.”

I snatched my hand away. Could any woman really be friends with Hansen? I would bet my company that Hansen didn’t have any real female friends. Being a player made it hard. There was always an attraction on someone’s end that made it impossible. I didn’t have male friends because I knew what ultimately happened. Someone fell. And I was not in the business of falling for anyone. I knew Hansen was of the same persuasion.

“No. I don’t have male friends. But I appreciate your interest.” I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs that sweated too much being shrouded in my pantsuit. “Besides, it’s much more fun to be your competitor and crush you.”

“You don’t have to be my competitor to crush me, Luci. There are much easier ways of doing that being a woman.”

Oh please. He had been laying it on thick.

“Yes, I know.” I lifted an eyebrow, punctuating my point. “I know I could have my way with you if I wanted.”

He laughed. “Indeed.”

If he didn’t stop looking at me like that…eyes soft yet devious, and lips lifted up at one corner as if he were ready to kiss on demand…I would have gone against my better judgment to keep him at arm’s length. There was something about being on an island thousands of miles from home that made me think anything that happened there, wouldn’t count.

What happens in Grand Cayman stays in Grand Cayman.

I needed another drink.

He leaned back, just as the bartender finally came over to us. The bartender was dressed in a classic black-and-white uniform with a bowtie at his neck, his dreadlocks pulled back.

“Another…” Hansen glanced at my glass, half-filled with melting ice. He looked at me, his eyebrow quirking up. “Sex on the beach?”

I wish. And so did he.

“Amaretto sour,” I said casually, as if the image of actually having sex on the beach hadn’t just crossed my mind.

Hansen’s face scrunched up. “Wait. Did you really just say amaretto sour?”

I glanced at the bartender, who clearly had the same sentiment as Hansen regarding my drink choice.

Louder and with more conviction, because I wasn’t ashamed of my drink, I said, “Amaretto sour, please.”

“I feel like I’m at Circus Circus with my unmarried aunt,” Hansen said it as if being unmarried was a bad thing, which didn’t make sense considering he seemed to be immune to monogamy. Nothing wrong with that. But why judge?

“Your aunt obviously has great taste in drinks and relationship status,” I replied. I would stand up for unmarried women everywhere. I planned to be one indefinitely. After all, I had been the recipient of a broken engagement for reasons beyond my biological control. Marriage from then on out, in my mind, became nothing more than a business agreement. Have children. Live ‘happily’ ever after. Some women—like myself—could never have the former. And just like marriage, motherhood wasn’t something that was in my hand of cards life had dealt me.

He shook his head. “I guess I’ve never had an actual alcoholic drink with you. Last thing I’d expect for you to have is an amaretto sour.”

“But somewhere in the depths of your mind, you could fathom I’d have a Sex on the beach?”

White teeth sank into his plump bottom lip. I could almost hear the long groan deep in his throat. He shook his head. “And a lot more.”

“Something tells me it’s NSFW.”

“Not safe for bars either.” He turned to the bartender, who had a humored curl on his lips, and said, “An amaretto sour for the lady, and a vodka on the rocks for me.”

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