Page 30 of Bound

“Yup.”

It’s why I’ve waited so long to be here.

To touch her.

To feel the lush curves of her body pressed to mine.

A huffed-out breath. “Back up,” she snaps. “I have work to do.”

“Been a long time, kitty cat?” I ask, leaning more heavily against her, wishing I wasn’t mostly dressed in my gear, wishing I could feel her naked skin against my own.

“I—no.”

But there’s something in her tone, in the way panic enters her eyes that has me freezing, leaning even closer, studying her face.

“Why then?”

Her jaw clenches and I know she’s not going to tell me—know that I can push and push, but that she’ll double down and won’t fuckingtellme.

I inhale the sweet scent of her, commit the notes of it to memory.

And then I avoid pushing and commence with…pissing her off.

That’ll get her to talk.

Hell, it may be the only way right about now.

“So,” I say dryly, “you’re getting enough dick at home that you don’t need sex. What then?” I tap a finger to my chin, watching as her frown deepens. “You just want a guy to buy you dinner and drinks?”

She sputters. “That’s n-not?—”

“Ah, I see. Don’t worry. I’m sure I can talk to someone and put in a good word for you with Luc,” I cajole. “See about getting you a raise. Or maybe I’ll talk to the guys and do a collection, get you some gift cards for Red Lobster or something.”

Her eyes say she’s going to kill me.

But the devil in me can’t stop.

Not when I need to her tell me, even if she does it while being pissed.

“Not Red Lobster?” I say. “Fine.” I sigh. “You drive a hard bargain, but I’m sure I can swing a meal at The Cheesecake Factory?—”

“Fuck.You,” she hisses.

I shrug and then push a button I know will get her talking. “It’s not me who’s trying to get laid while on the road.”

“I told you—” she growls and shoves at my chest. “I didn’t want sex or a free meal. I just wanted to go on a real date—” She clamps her lips together, cheeks flaring, eyes darting away, chin dropping.

Fuck.

Arealdate?

“Sweetheart,” I rumble.

Her head flies up. “Don’t,” she snaps, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Don’t pretend to care about me.”

“That’s not fair, I?—”

I want to say I do care, but that would involve admitting shit that I can’t and…

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