Page 34 of Sin Bin

Andre slowly shakes his head. When the words I suspect are coming actually leave his mouth, my knees nearly crumblebeneathme.

“I need to get you out of my system. You’re driving me insane. Fuck, you’ve been driving me insane all day. Forcing me to talk, wearing that sexy skirt. Pretending to fall in thestreet.”

A surprised laugh escapes me. “I did almost fall, actually,” Iwhisper.

“Almost,” he returns, just as softly, “but Isavedyou.”

The words yank at my heart. “You don’t save people, Andre. You plow into them and take what you need, just like you do ontheice.”

“Maybe I need you, have you thoughtofthat?”

He’s killing me. He’s actually killing me, and now I’m thinking the impossible: would it be so bad if I let him touch me?But we’ve been there before. We’ve been there, and it didn’t work out, and it’s quite likely it wouldn’t work out now either. There’s too much bad bloodbetweenus.

“It’s beenaweek.”

In a voice husky with insanity—definitelyinsanity—he says, “And we havethreemore.”

“You saidnosex.”

“I know.” His big body closes in on mine, his hands going to the wall on either side of my head. Immediately, I catch the scent of his cologne and it smellsdelicious. Like sandalwood mixed with fresh laundry. “You’re dating your penthouse-owning millionaire. I’m dating . . . women. We both like our lives, but maybe we just need to take care of this attraction. Or, at least, prove that it doesn’t exist once andforall.”

Does he really think it’s as simple as that? My chin tips back so that I can meet his glittering black eyes. “This isn’t agoodidea.”

His gaze falls to my mouth. “I knowthattoo.”

I curl my fingers around the railing, and try not to notice that in doing so, I inadvertently thrust my breasts forward. Against his chest, like a completehussy.

I try one last time to hold my ground, to stand strong against the man who wrecked me and then finished me off by leaving. “I don’tlikeyou.”

My voice isn’t quite steady. It isn’t all thatforceful.

And Andre takes notice. His hand, the one to the right of my head, shifts over to lightly touch my face. The pads of his fingers are rough, abrasive against my skin, and, God, Iloveit.

“I don’t like youeither.”

For some reason, I don’t think he’s telling thetruth.

I worry that I’m noteither.

My eyes flutter shut when his fingers gently trace the slope of my nose, and when his thumb brushes over my lips, I release ashudderedsigh.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he tells me softly. “I’m going to kiss you, and I’m going to make damn sure you go home thinking about it tonight. And then we’re going to return to our lives that we both like, and get back to whatmatters.”

My eyes snap open at his crude words, just as the elevator jolts to a halt and the doorsslideopen.

Get back to what matters?Is heserious?

With a hand to his (ahem) incredibly hard chest, I give a good shove. My ankle protests when I swoop down low to gather my discarded purse, and with a sharp tug at my skirt and my loose-fitting pink top, I put myself back inorder.

Or, as in order as I can be, considering that Andre was less than thirty seconds away fromkissingme.

I don’t turn around when he says my name thefirsttime.

I don’t turn around when he says it thesecondtime.

On the third time, I whirl back, thankful for the fact that the elevator has exited into a quiet hallway. I strut toward him, all business. Yes, I add a sway to my hips. Yes, I come at him with fingers pointing and at theready.

I jab him once in the chest, and I’m not surprised when the flesh beneath my attack doesn’tbudge.

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