Page 23 of Sin Bin

“No.” I put up my other hand, too, for good measure. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it.Rightnow.”

He tugs again on the same ear, and then a grin, one so sexy it actually hurts, cuts across his face. “Now, Zoe, I’m not the one who said that this job is theirlasthope.”

My hand falls to my side as horror seeps into my veins. “You wouldn’t,” Iwhisper.

With his hands shoved deep into the front pockets of his jeans, he saunters toward me, cutting around the desk until he’sthere, right in front of me. My butt hikes back against the lip of the desk, my pencil skirt indecently riding up my thighs. I struggle to appear unaffected, even as I glance down to see if my Spanx are putting onashow.

They’re not, thank God, but that doesn’t mean anything because he is so close, and I don’t know what to do, and every rational thought has fled my brain in favor of one word:Abort! Abort!Abort!

There’s not a chance in hell of thathappening.

He swaggers so close that my hands have no choice but to find purchase on either side of my hips. He swaggers so close that my knees part, the hem of my skirt tightening across my splayedthighs.

Get your mind back in thegame,girl.

Get. Your. Mind. Back. In.The.Game!

Naturally, I say the first that comes to mind. With no lead-up whatsoever, I blurt out, “I thought we weren’t going to have sexagain?”

Ugh, that wasnotsupposed to be aquestion.

Andre’s full mouth tilts at the corners, like he finds mehilarious.

I’m not hilarious. I’mpanicking.

Mainly because while my brain is shouting for me to take cover and hide, my body—traitorous thing that it is—wants to lean into his touch. Wants to feel his fingers dance their way overmyskin.

It’s an absolute betrayal, Itellyou.

Andre’s gaze trails down my body, lingering at my coffee stain, before flicking back up to my face. “We’re nothavingsex.”

Oh, oh is that right? He says it so flippantly, whereas I’m over here panting like I’ve just had the best orgasm all year. Considering that I’ve been living a completely orgasm-free life since moving to Boston, that’s not much ofafeat.

Peeling a hand away from the desk, I motion at the scant distance between us. “Then please let me know why you’re trying to get betweenmylegs.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, voice low, “if I were trying to get between your legs for the real deal, you’dknowit.”

I look down and feel heat swarm to my face. “Then why areyou. . .up?”

He follows the direction of my gaze, and then laughs.Laughs!I want to crawl into a ditch somewhere and stay thereforgood.

“Case in point,” he tells me silkily. “If I had a small cock, I’d doubt you’d be able to tell that Iwas. . .up.”

Yep, this is the perfect time to go find a ditch. I’ll stay there, maybe make it feel quite homey by choosing a spot near an oceanfront view. With some pretty flowers and a fairy garden, because why thehellnot?

I throw up a hand to cover my eyes. “Can we not go down that roadagain?”

His laugh is throaty and too temptingly masculine for my liking. “You broughtitup.”

I point at him with my free hand, even as the other remains clamped over my eyes. “Youcorneredme.”

“You want me to do this interview? Then you’re going to be at my side the entire time.” His fingers tug at mine, one by one until his face is there, his dark eyes glittering. “Unless you want me to pay a visit to Walter on my way out of heretoday. . . ”

“You’reblackmailingme?”

His head cocks to the side. “Maybe I just want yourcompany.”

“Now I know you’relying.”

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