Page 18 of Sin Bin

Oh.

My.

God.

He did not justsaythat.

From the way his brows arch as he sips at his whiskey and coke, I bet he’s feeling mightily pleased with himself right about now. Which is, I decide, theonlyreason Iretaliate.

“You’re right,” I say in a sugary-sweet tone, “I begged you, Andre.” I plant my palms on the barstool next to him, crumpling his once-crisp sports jacket, and jut my face close to his. “I begged you to take me, and then, when I realized that you had nothing substantial hanging between your legs, I begged for you to finish as quickly aspossible.”

Silence swirls around us, and I swallow a flare of satisfaction when his facecontorts.

“Did you just say that I have asmallcock?”

Folding my arms across my chest, I nod. “If the condom fits. Or, you know—itdoesn’t.”

I smile a little at my play on words, mentally pumping my fists into the air invictory.

But then . . . Andre’s dark expression clears, and he laughs. He laughs so hard that his deep, masculineha-ha-hascan be heard throughout Vittoria, earning us the attention of the very last couple in the restaurant. He laughs so hard that he wipes tears from his eyes with the pads of his thumbs. He laughs so hard that when hestopslaughing, all I can do is stare at him, becausewhy is he laughing when I just said he has asmalldick?

“Oh, honey,” he says, his voice still rumbling with buried mirth, “is that the lie you tell yourself at night to feelbetter?”

Shock spins through me. And the words . . . all words have fled my body. I have no comeback. I have no witty reply to scathingly deliver. I have absolutely nothing, save for an undeniably burning hot face that grows hotter with each passingsecond.

Because he’sright,thejerk.

Late at night, when I curl up in bed (aka the couch), three fluffy pillows stuffed beneath the back of my head, I can’t help but think about the one day we gave in and had mind-blowingly good sex. Emphasis on the “mind-blowing” part. I don’t consider myself a sex savant—I’ve always been keener to focus on my career—but I’d be lying if I said Andre didn’t rock my worldthatday.

He rocked it one night, and then it all came crumbling downthenext.

Andre finally stands, straightening to his full height of six-foot-something. He’s taller than me, which is all that matters, though I’m no shrinking violet myself. He pulls a leather wallet from his pocket and drops three Andrew Jacksons on the bar, even though his tab couldn’t have run higher than twentydollars.

“I’ll stop by your office tomorrow,” he says, sliding the wallet back into his pocket, and snagging his jacket out from under my hands with a sharp tug. “Let you think real hard on what we’ve talked abouttonight.”

Aboot.

It’s so Canadian, so cute, and I feel the strangest urge to takemyboot—the one on my foot—and kick him. He’s been back in my life for all of two days andnothingis going asplanned.

“Was that supposed to be a double entendre?” I demand, feeling off-kilter and not at allmyself.

“Definitely not,” he counters, his dark eyes warm with stifled humor. “Remember, we’re not having sex again. Stop thinkingaboutit.”

“I’mnotthinking about it. You’re the one throwing out metaphors about things thatarehard.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he tells me as he pulls on his jacket. The sleeves are creased from my hands, but he doesn’t even attempt to flattenthemout.

“You think you’re so sly, Andre, but I can promise you that youaren’t.”

“I wouldn’t daredreamso.”

Annoyance flickers through me. “I’m not going home and thinking about youtonight.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream that either.” He turns away, but just before he does us both a favor and actually leaves, he twists back around to give me his parting words, “And, for the record, I distinctly remember you telling me to take it easy because my ‘small cock’ wastoobig.”

He steps back and lifts his hand in a casual wave. “Have a good night, Zoe. I’ll be at your office tomorrow morning. Ten a.m. sharp. Don’tbelate.”

I sag against the barstool, my brain spinning with everything that just went down. I don’t even hear the bartender until she’s right behind me, gathering Andre’s ridiculouslysizedtip.

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