Page 33 of Power Play

“Then why keep her around?” I ask, because the question is already there on the tip of my tongue. No use holding it back, since he’s opening up and I want to know the answer.

“Honestly?” Duke rubs the back of his neck again. “She’s damn good at what she does, probably the best in the Northeast. She might be certifiably off her rocker, but no one doubts that she’s good at her job. And since my career, as of late, hasn’t been . . . ”

“Hot?” I offer, immediately wishing I could snatch the word back.

He pauses, dropping his eyes to sneakers, before releasing a deep sigh. When he looks up at me again, his gaze is a little less bright. I feel the regret tugging at my lungs, stealing the breath from my body. “Yeah,” he mutters bitterly, “A little less hot. Anyway, for all of her other faults, Gwen has been good to me. Good for my career, especially in the last two years since she’s come on board.”

I want to apologize, but something tells me he wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. Still, there’s one last question burning on my tongue, and I give in pathetically. “Do you still go on dates with her?”

If I thought he looked upset before, now he looks downright annoyed. A pulse leaps to his jaw, ticking away like a sand-timer.

Without warning, he moves swiftly, invading my personal space, backing me up against the wall. The dartboard is just to my right. His hands land on either side of my head, boxing me in until all I can smell is the scent of pine and all I can see is the ink peeking out from the neck of his T-shirt at his throat.

I inhale sharply, dragging much-needed oxygen into my lungs.

“You’re not asking me about dating, are you, Charlie?” One hand slides down my arm before taking a detour and landing flat on my belly. The heat of his palm seeps through my layers of clothing. The heat of his palm sends want spearing down between my legs. “No, you’re not asking me about dating,” he rasps, his mouth dipping to hover by my ear, “You want to know if I fuck her, don’t you.”

“No,” I whisper on a shaky breath.

“Liar.”

He’s totally right. I’m lying between my teeth. It’s not my fault. Idowant to know if there’s something going on between him and Gwen, not that is affects me either way. Duke and I . . . whateverthisis, isn’t permanent. I have seven days until my article is due for review. Seven days to remember that my attraction to him is probably only skyrocketing because of close proximity.

If I only had to see him via TV or online, no way would I be suffering this sort of need. And, yeah, I’m needy. My hands are curling into fists, desperate to sink into his soft T-shirt and pull him close. My knees are stick-straight, to keep my body from sinking against his chest. My heart is beating so fast that I’m worried it might leap out of my chest.

I want Duke Harrison.

Maybe it’s because of my job.

Maybe it’s because he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever talked to personally.

Maybe it’s because whenever he steps close, all good reason flies away to destinations unknown.

Whatever “it” is, I give in to temptation and ask, “Are you having sex with her?”

I feel the vibration of his harsh laugh reverberate against my chest. “I don’t mix business with pleasure, Charlie.”

At the squeezing of my heart, I glance up to meet his gaze. “Then what are you doing right now?”

Just like that, Duke releases me with a curse. His hands fly to the back of his head, like he’s got to keep them away from me. After a moment, in which my breathing slowly regulates and I’ve slumped against the wall for stability, he twists around. He points his finger at me, and then points at himself. “This isn’t happening.”

Disappointment grips my limbs, dragging my shoulders down in a hunch. “I got it. You, athlete. Me, nobody. You don’t have to act so disgusted by the thought of kissing me.”

His large hands follow the line of his neck and close down at the base. Stupid me, I can’t help but notice how attractive he looks, all frazzled and disjointed. His biceps coil under his shirt, unfurling when he drops his arms to his side on a heavy exhalation. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it is,” I say, straightening my spine and snapping to my full height. I may want him, but I’ve got standards. Plus, it’s not like I haven’t been in a similar position before. Men never seem to want the goods when I’m ready to give them up—hence, my lack of a sex life.

Pushing away from the wall, I stock over to the couch where I draped my coat an hour ago. I stick my arms through the appropriate slots, determined to not let him see how much his rejection hurts me.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, zipping my coat up to my chin, a modern-day version of body armor. “You know what? Message me your email on Twitter. I’ll forward the rest of my questions to you there. As long as I have them by next Wednesday, I’ll make my deadline. Then, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Duke makes a grab for my hand when I stalk past him, whirling me around until I’m back in the same position—my back against the wall, the dartboard to my right. This time, I can’t really feel the heat of his body, thanks to the thickness of my puffy winter coat.

“I’m not disgusted by the thought of kissing you,” he mutters, his long-tapered fingers fluttering over my face, before cupping my head. His thumbs fan out over the crests of my cheekbones. “This has nothing to do with Gwen. Nothing to do with you.”

“Exactly,” I exclaim, slapping at his hand though he barely budges. “This has nothing to do with me. We’ve broken your rules, anyway. You said one question per meeting.”

“I adjusted the rules.”

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