Page 43 of Worth the Risk

“Seriously!”

“Yeah, seriously. Every time you cut me off when I call it, you make sure some part of your body is touching mine. And don’t act like I don’t notice the way you look back at me when you’re bent slightly forward. That fucking skirt should be illegal.” His chest is against mine as he tosses his racket to the ground. “You want me to look, don’t you?”

My mouth drops open. I’m trying to process what Austin is saying to me. The way his expression has changed from anger to arrogance to—oh God.

I know this look. It’s the same one he gave me in my office the night he first kissed me. I watched that video enough times that look on his face will forever be burned into my brain.

“You are so—” I shake my head, trying to think of any word to say but nothing comes to mind that accurately describes this feeling of anger and need and desire and frustration all wrapped into one.

“So what?” He barely gets the words out before his hands are cupping my face, his lips coming over mine slowly, softly kissing me.

My racket slips from my grasp, falling to the ground as his tongue slides just inside my mouth, touching mine and sending my eyelids flying open.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

I can only stand here, letting him explore my mouth with his tongue, and I want to continue letting him.

I want to wind my fingers into his hair so I can pull his mouth even harder against mine. I want to let the moan that’s burning in my chest tear through me. I want to?—

“Fuck,” he pants, pulling back from me. “I couldn’t stop myself.” He leans in again, nipping my lips, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Fuck, you taste good,” he moans, his lips sucking my bottom lip. He’s about to lose control again when Becca’s voice makes us both freeze.

“What the hell is going on!”

I blink rapidly, moving to step away from him, but his hand around my waist won’t let me. That’s when it registers that the thick, hard pole running up my belly is not his racket because he tossed it aside earlier.

“Oh God.” I glance down, then quickly at Becca.

“When did— What?” I can’t help but wonder if the look of confusion on her face is also mirrored on my own because I can’t register what and how this all just took place. “Are you two together because I thought—” She thumbs over her shoulder, turning to look at Mia and Miguel who are both staring at us.

“I—no, no, we’re not together. At all,” I say emphatically as I reach around my waist to unlatch Austin’s hand from my body.

“Not officially.”

“What?” My head snaps back around to Austin. “No, no.” He finally releases me and I step out of his grasp, but he keeps me in front of him. “No, we are not together in any capacity and thanks,” I say, motioning toward Miguel and Mia, “for making it super fucking awkward for our new employee’s first day of work tomorrow. And for being an absolute shit date for Mia. Hope you’re happy.”

“I am so confused,” I hear Becca say as I make my way away from them to grab my things and head out, leaving Austin to deal with his obvious hard-on by himself.

“I am so sorry,” I say as I approach Mia. “I did not know he was going to do that and he was?—”

“It’s okay.” She laughs. “I’m sure he told you we were just friends and you didn’t believe him?”

“Wait.”

“We really are just friends. I’m going to leave it at that because I think it will make sense someday but I’m not sure if it will right now. But you’re not stepping on my toes by kissing him.” She giggles.

“Okay,” I say, now more confused than ever. “Miguel.” He holds his hands up and shakes his head as if to say don’t worry about it, no explanation needed.

So I leave. I grab my purse and walk as fast as I can to where I’m parked in the very back of the country club lot.

“Of course he parked next to me,” I huff under my breath when I see his matte black Range Rover parked next to my Mercedes. I root through my purse for my keys, my car beeping when I find them and hit the unlock button. Yanking my door open harder than necessary, I toss my purse into the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel. My foot is already depressing the brake when I hit the start button. I reach for the gearshift instinctively when I lift my head but I don’t shift.

Austin is standing right in front of my car.

“Turn it off, Taylor. Get out of the car.”

My hand darts toward the button, then I pause, remembering his comments last night about wanting to play a game of cat and mouse.

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