Page 23 of Dirty Play

“What else will you give me to make me say yes to this little redo of yours?” He steps forward, the faint scent of his cologne invading my senses.

Is he messing with me again? I won’t fall for this trap a second time.

“I don’t have to give you anything but my word and ask for your cooperation.” I lift my chin, trying to regain my footing.

“Oh?” His voice drops an octave, and he leans in, his breath warm against my skin. “Cooperation,” he says the word as if trying to taste it, to twist its meaning. And the way he says it definitely implies another form of cooperation.

“Yes,” I manage, my voice a little too breathy for my liking. “And if you won’t pick a time, I’ll just schedule it myself.”

“So I take it you don’t have anything else to offer me?” He leans down slightly, letting his hands fall to his sides before they reach for the table behind me. That’s when I realize that he’s trapped me between himself and the desk behind me.

I try to step back, but my heel hits the leg of the table. He’s caging me in without even touching me, making my heart race. His teeth clamp on his bottom lip while his gaze drops down my body and drags up again, making sure I know exactly where he’s looking. I swallow and tilt my head almost all the way back to look up at him.

“Rowan,” I warn, my voice steadier than I feel. The heat pooling low in my belly reminds me of the traitorous thoughts that have flashed through my mind these past few days.

“Hm?” he hums, his voice silky smooth. “Am I too close?”

“Yes,” I bite out, but my body betrays me, every nerve ending is alive with awareness.

He huffs out a chuckle, the sound sending a thrill through me, and then he leans down, his whole body covering mine.

“I’ll consider your little interview…if you figure out what you can offer me in return.”

“My friendship,” I manage, trying to distract myself from the electric zap that goes straight between my legs.

“I don’t want to be friends, Livia,” he murmurs, his hot breath falling on my skin.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach at his words.

“Then colleagues,” I say, my voice faltering.

I feel his breath on my neck, climbing up until the tip of his nose brushes my ear, sending sparks of electricity coursing through me.

“I don’t want to be colleagues either.” His voice is low, intimate.

“Rowan…” I can hardly breathe, my heart pounding in my chest.

Suddenly, he straightens, grinning at my breathlessness, clearly reveling in what he just did.

“Think it over, hellcat.”

As he steps back, finally giving me space, I feel a rush of confusion and desire. I stare at him, opening and closing my mouth as he turns to leave.

I’ve never had a man this close to me before—not like that anyway. Life on a farm meant solitude, not this, this dizzying closeness that leaves me wondering what I’ve been missing out on. And I definitely haven’t felt this conflicted before, torn between frustration and the arousal coiled deep in my belly.

“Let me know when you change your mind.” He glances back over his shoulder, that knowing look lingering as he walks out. “See you Friday.”

By the time the door clicks shut, I’m left reeling, my heart racing, and my palms damp. I turn around, placing both hands on the table, my clipboard resting between them. I let my head hang between my shoulders as I try to make sense of it all. I close my eyes and squeeze my thighs before rubbing them together, confirming my suspicions. No. No, this isn’t happening. Rowan DiMarco did not make me wet. He doesn’t affect me.

The more I repeat the words in my head, the more obvious the lie becomes as the slickness between my legs persists.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Chapter eight

~ROWAN~

The water scalds my skin, steam filling the bathroom until it’s heavy enough to choke on. Not that I care. I brace my hands against the cool tile, leaning forward as the spray pounds against the back of my neck. My body’s wrecked from practice, my muscles aching in that way I live for.

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