Page 22 of Power Play

“I’m a big boy.”

Naturally, my gaze falls to his crotch.

Naturally, he catches sight of this and, to my complete mortification, he touches a finger to the point of my chin and gently lifts.Oops.Caught red-handed. My gaze jumps away, landing on the bartender who’s slinging two drinks at once. Impressive.

Duke’s husky voice garners my attention. “Nothing to say to that, Charlie?”

Primly, I fold my hands over my crossed legs and flash him a smile. “You’re slick, Duke Harrison, but I don’t fall for high school tricks.”

A throaty laugh escapes him, and he goes so far as to tip his head back and squeeze his eyes shut. Sue me, but I can’t help but wonder if he looks just as hot when he’s having an orgasm. I’ve never been one to ogle a guy so openly before—Duke is apparently my kryptonite.

Needless to say, when his laughter fades I’m left with damp panties.

It’s tremendously unfair.

We need to get back on track before I’m tempted to do something stupid, like preposition a man who would never say yes to a woman like me. Thumping the bar with my closed fist, I exclaim, “Business, Duke. What’re you talking about with this scheduling thing? Am I supposed to follow you everywhere? Stalk you to your apartment? Hide out in the locker room? I’d prefer to avoid arrest, just so you know.”

He reaches for his beer bottle, and I watch as his throat works down the liquid. No wonder they chose him for theGot Milk?ad however many years ago now. He’s still got it.

And by “it,” I’m obviously talking about sex appeal.

“All right,” he murmurs, dragging his hand through his hair, “We’ll do this your way and refrain from breaking out the handcuffs.”

Does hehaveto make everything sound sexual? It’s a talent, I’m sure of it.

“This is the way your interview is going to go down.” The tension in his wrist slackens, so that the beer bottle hangs loosely from his thumb and index finger. Bouncing the body of the bottle against his knee, he continues, “I’m not one for staged features, so if you want this, you’re going to have to do it my way. I’ll arrange when we can meet up, and I’ll let you know when you have a chance to ask a question. One question per meeting. You following?”

My eyes narrow at his high-handed tone. “Your dick is showing,” I say, holding up a hand when he arches a brow and glances down at his jeans. “Notthat dick, Mr. Harrison. I’m talking about your glowing personality.”

“I thought you wanted this interview?”

“I thought you were chivalrous,” I counter with a smirk.

He shifts his weight and his beer bottle lands softly on my knee. With the cool condensation seeping through my jeans, I’m struck silent by the expression on his face. I have enough sexual experience in my pocket to recognize desire when I see it.

Now, whether it’s a desire to strip me naked or a desire to bash the bottle over my head—that, I have no idea.

The bottle goes to the bar, abandoned, and Duke’s hands land on the wooden legs of my barstool. When he drags the stool close to him, I let loose a startled yip and clap my hands on his shoulders.

“What are youdoing?” I growl, turning my grip into two palms smacking his chest away.

“Being chivalrous.”

“I didn’t ask you to move my stool,” I tell him, refusing to admit, even to myself, that my heart is pumping erratically in my chest. “In fact, I was fine just where I was.”

He watches me silently, blue eyes hooded with an unreadable emotion. That one look entraps me, though, and I find myself leaning forward as if pulled by an invisible thread.

I swallow, hard. “I don’t think you were being chivalrous,” I say with false bravado.

“No?” His knee bumps mine. “What do you think I was doing, then?”

I edge closer, debating the merits of playing coy. Duke seems like a straight shooter. As much as I’d like to practice my sorely neglected flirting skills on him, I’m so not interested in throwing myself into the line of fire.

In a voice carved from gravel, he rasps my name. “Charlie?”

Don’t fall prey to his good looks, don’t fall prey to his good looks, don’t fall prey to his good looks . . .“You’re trying to distract me from my goal. I see what you’re doing here.”

“I don’t think you know at all what my angle is right now.”

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