Page 17 of Must Have Been Love

“You don’t treat her like one. You don’t treat anybody like one,” I tell him. “You seem to think you’re the king of the island and we’re all your subjects.”

“King of the island?” He lifts a brow. “That’s a very interesting way of describing me.”

“How would you describe yourself?” I’m closer to him now. I’m not sure whether it was him or me that took a step toward the other. God, I hope it was him.

“I wouldn’t.” He shrugs. “Why would I? I’m not interested in being described.”

“Because I know how you’d describe me,” I say, my voice low. There’s a crackle in the air between us.

“And how would that be?”

This time I do take a deliberate step toward him. He looks down at my face, his expression unreadable. He's so annoying. And I want to annoy him.

I try not to think about why I want to do that. Because that way madness lies.

“I’m not one of the good girls you’re used to, am I?” I say. “I don’t wear sweet little skirts or designer jeans. I don’t talk about houses or babies or whether the polo club’s ball will be aPretty Womantheme this year.”

He tips his head to the side, saying nothing, just listening. And I’m annoyed. By the way he treats me, by the way he thinks he can own this place when it belongs to me.

And the way my body responds when he’s near.

This time he takes a step closer. He looks down at me, our gazes locking like they’re ready for battle. His close proximity makes it hard to breathe. My heart starts banging against my chest, but I refuse to look away.

He can’t intimidate me. And he won’t be intimidated by me, either.

We’re at a deadlock. And it’s never felt so physical.

I part my lips to exhale and his gaze dips to my lips. He leans down and for one drawn out moment I think he’s going to kiss me.

My breath catches. My heart pounds. His jaw twitches like it’s on speed.

There’s a sweet pulse between my thighs that I swear he knows he’s causing. My body wants to rub itself up against him until the aching disappears.

My mind, though, wants to claw at his face.

It’s a strange juxtaposition. One I’m not used to.

I lift my chin, my eyes screaming for my lids to close. I swear they’re more dry than the desert. But I won’t be the first to blink, I won’t.

Then he lets out a long sigh and steps back, the weird connection between us breaking. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

All I know is that my skin tingles for him.

Running his fingers through his hair – like even an inch of it is out of place, he takes a long breath and frowns.

“Have a good day,” he says, as though we didn’t just have a battle of wills with our eyes. “I’ll tell Autumn to call you.”

“She doesn’t have my number,” I point out.

“No, but I do.”

He has my number? I frown, because I didn’t give it to him. How the hell has he gotten it?

Because he’s King of the island, dumb dumb.

He’s out of the door before I can say anything else. He walks past the window to my right, and for a second he pauses and adjusts his pants.

Oh. So he did feel it too.

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