Page 49 of The Merger
“What’s that?”
“You can look me in the eye right now and tell me you seriously don’t want this. That this is a terrible idea, and you want no part of it. If you do, I’ll quit. I’ll stop teasing you, and this will be my last week at Brewer Group.”
His gaze is steady, and he’s unblinking.
“But if you can’t do that …”
“That question isn’t fair, Miss Johnson.”
I smirk. “Oh, I think it’s fair. I just think you don’t want to be honest with me.”
A slow smirk crosses his lips, too. “And why do you say that?”
“Because I think you want to bend me over this bench. Don’t you?”
Gannon’s chest rises and falls, but he doesn’t break eye contact.
“Why won’t you?” I ask.
He cuts the distance between us, andholy fuck. My heart pounds, and my lips part.
Good God, I want this man to kiss me.
He plants one hand on either side of me, caging me in. Then he leans forward, his mouth dangerously close to mine.
“I’ll tell you why I won’t,” he whispers, the words kissing my lips. “Because it won’t stop there. Because that won’t be enough.It’ll never be enough.”
His rough words slip through his clenched teeth. He’s so close to me that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. I can taste his minty breath.
“You won’t know until you try,” I whisper back, leaning forward until our mouths nearly touch.
His eyes bore into mine. Our breaths mix in the air between us, and if either of us moved a muscle, we’d touch. Somehow, we hold steady and manage not to make contact—and I’m not sure if that’s the best or the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Finally, he pushes away. The movement sucks all the oxygen from my body, and I suck in a hasty breath as he faces me from the other side of the small room.
With the slightest nod I’ve ever seen a man make, he tells me he can’t. He won’t.
“Fine,” I say, hopping off the table. “Thank you for making yourself abundantly clear.”
“Carys …”
I ignore the way he growls my name. “I’ll be fine by Monday.”
“How?”
“By distracting myself with someone else.” I grab the door handle and look at him over my shoulder. He’s watching me with a mixture of confusion and anger. “But don’t worry. It won’t be with John. He’s not my type.”
I give him a cheeky grin, impressed with myself for not wobbling on my feet, and walk out.
Chapter Twelve
Carys
“I need to get out of these shoes,” I say, wincing.
I press my back against the wall to take the pressure off my feet. My 4-inch gold heels with a delicate wraparound strap that buckles at the ankle are dainty, sexy, and a terrible decision.
“Take them off,” my friend Taryn says. “No one will notice.”
