Page 3 of Stuffed

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and damn, if it doesn't make him even more attractive. "You always did have fire in you, Marlow. Even back in school."

The comment throws me off-balance. "You… you noticed me in school?" Instantly, I wish I could take it back. My cheeksflush at my moment of vulnerability and suddenly, I’m that shy sixteen-year-old girl all over again.

"Hard not to," he says cryptically, then adds, "you were always around, weren't you? Following Asher like a puppy."

My cheeks burn. "I wasn't following Asher, you jackass. I was—" I catch myself before I can admit I was actually trying to catch glimpses of him. That I used to time my walks to class just so I could pass him in the hallway on the off chance he actually showed up to school.

"You were what?" he prompts, and there's something almost playful in his tone now.

"Nothing," I snap, taking another sip of champagne to hide my flustered state. "God, you're still just as infuriating as you were back then, you know that? I thought with age you might have grown out of this."

"And you're still just as…" He pauses, his eyes trailing over me in a way that makes my skin tingle. "Transparent."

"Transparent?" I scoff, even as my heart races. "You don't know the first thing about me, Zane Mercer. You think just because I was the popular cheerleader in high school that you have me…” My words trail off as he takes a step closer to me.

He leans in slightly, and I catch another whiff of his cologne. "No? Then why are you over here talking to me instead of networking with all those potential investors?"

I meet his gaze defiantly. "Maybe I like a challenge."

"Or maybe," he says, his voice dropping lower, "you're still that same girl who used to watch me from behind her little pom-poms, thinking I didn't notice."

My breath catches in my throat. All these years, I thought I'd been so subtle. "I didn't?—"

"You did." He cuts me off, a smugness in his tone that both infuriates and excites me. "And now here you are, all grown-up and still looking at me the same way."

"You're delusional," I manage to say, but my voice comes out breathier than I intended. My plan to have the upper hand on him tonight is quickly dwindling.

He smirks, and the expression is so devastatingly attractive I want to either slap him or kiss him. Maybe both. "Am I? Prove it. Stay away from me for the rest of the night."

It's a challenge, and we both know it. The smart thing would be to walk away, to prove him wrong. To show him that I'm not that same lovesick teenager who used to pine after him. But something keeps me rooted to the spot, my heart pounding as I stare up at him.

"Fine," I finally say, squaring my shoulders, "challenge accepted. But just so you know, Zane, you're not as irresistible as you think you are."

His laugh is low and knowing, sending shivers down my spine. "We'll see about that, won't we, Marlow?"

I turn and walk away, my heels clicking against the marble floor, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. And despite my words, despite my determination to prove him wrong, I already know I'll be back. Because some things never change—and apparently, my weakness for Zane Mercer is one of them.

As I make my way back to where Ivy stands with Asher, I catch my reflection in one of the windows. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes bright, and I look exactly like what I am—a woman who's just been thoroughly rattled by the man she never quite got over.

God help me.

Chapter 2

Zane

Istalk away from her, my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to ignore the way my body is screaming at me to turn around. To go back. To push her up against that wall and show her exactly what I've been thinking about for the past decade.

But I can't.

She's Tessa Marlow. The girl who used to watch me in the halls with those big doe eyes. The one who made my cock hard in class just by existing. The one who was always too young, too pure, too everything for a guy like me.

When I exit the penthouse ballroom and reach the elevators, I hit the button for my floor. The halls of our building are dark and quiet, just like they are when I come in early or on the weekends. That’s how I like it. Quiet. Uncomplicated. Easy.

"Fuck," I mutter, yanking open the door to my private office and letting it slam behind me. I loosen my tie and pour myself three fingers of scotch, downing half of it in one swallow.

The burn does nothing to erase the image of her in that red dress. The way it hugged every curve, showing off the woman she's become. She's not that teenage girl anymore—she's all grown-up and even more tempting than she was back then.

“Shit,” I groan, dropping down into my leather chair and closing my eyes, letting my mind wander back to the days when she haunted my every thought.

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