Page 47 of Mad Rivals
Yet, I find myself wanting another taste. I want to experience the feel of his heat as his body presses to mine. I want to feel his fingertips digging into my hip, his big hand sliding around my neck. Sliding into my panties. Sliding against my nipple.
Oh, God. He’s staring at me. He just told me he was going to invite me back to his place that night.
I don’t know what to say to him. I tip my glass to my lips to give myself something to do while I try to come up with something to say, and instead of drafting up a witty reply, my glass is empty and I need more wine.
I turn back to the bartender. “Another white wine,” I say, and he nods. He fills a glass and passes it over to me, and I turn back toward Madden, who’s smirking.
“Tell me that’s for my benefit,” he murmurs, and somehow that low voice of his seems to have this line directly to my vagina.
I hold up my glass without a word, and thankfully some man I don’t recognize sidles up beside Madden.
“Madden Bradley, how the hell are ya?” the guy asks, and the two shake hands like they’re old buddies.
I take the opportunity to slip away.
It’s a bold reminder.
I can’t do this with him. Not here, not tonight. Not at all.
I’m supposed to be networking, not letting the competition soak my panties with mere words.
Dammit.
I hate the hold this guy has on me. We hardly know each other, yet it feels like every moment we’ve spent together has brought us closer together. And every moment that’s brought us closer has me seeing him in a different light.
I keep pushing this narrative that he’s my enemy, but maybe he isn’t.
Or maybe he is, and some hate sex would get him out of my head.
I’m still not totally sure I can trust him, but it’s not exactly like he’s proven I can’t. What if I just…let go of whatever is holding me back and give this an actual chance?
Would that really be so bad?
Dinner hasn’t been served yet. Cocktail hour is meant for networking, so I force my feet to move. I approach a woman I recognize as one of the hosts of tonight’s event, and I start chatting her up about what a lovely event this is.
Eventually I lead the conversation to business only to find out she’s already working with Bradley Group but is happy to keep VBC in mind.
Right.
And so the evening goes. Bradley Group is the clear dominator in this industry. I knew they were big, but I think my dad downplayed just how big. They’ve got their hand in nearly everything in this city and the surrounding metropolitan area, and it’s actually quite surprising that Simon from SCS awarded us even a fraction of his project.
My mind is racing as to why that might be, and I remember my dad saying something about Thomas’s connections.
For the briefest moment, I wonder if there’s a way for me to access those connections for VBC’s benefit. That’s not really my style, though.
I’m talking to one of VBC’s current clients about their experience with our company so far when I feel his gaze on me from across the room.
I glance up, and sure enough, he’s having a conversation with someone, too, but his eyes are burning into me. Branding me.
From across the room.
I continue the conversation, my eyes not leaving Madden’s, lingering there a little longer than they should. He glances away first, and I turn my attention back to the client.
It’s not the only time that happens.
I don’t get the chance to talk to him again before dinner, and I’m not sure whether to be grateful or disappointed in that fact. During dinner, he’s at the table beside mine on the far side. We’re facing each other, and his heated gaze meets and holds mine more times than I can count.
It feels like foreplay.
