Page 17 of Ruthless Rose

“Every time I say something kinda dirty to you, your skin gets all flushed and those green eyes of yours flash at me. It’s pretty hot.” He leans in and says almost conspiratorially, “By the way, your nipples seem to like me, even if you don’t. They were hard as diamonds.” He bites down on his lip, shaking his head, as if he’s remembering standing there between my legs and touching me. He’s got a smirk on his face, and I want to slap it right off him.

What he’s not so subtly letting me know is that he knows what I look like when I’m turned on. That I like what he’s been saying to me, what he’s been doing. He’s all too aware that every last thing he does excites me.

“All it took was me whispering in your ear to make your pulse race like a stampeding herd of horses. Or maybe it was just that I was standing so close.” He leans closer to me as he says it, as if to prove his point.

My face goes up in flames.

And I feel like I’ll lose ground with him if I deny it now, so I shrug, bolstering my courage. “Lots of things get me hot, Micah. Don’t flatter yourself.” I use up all the false bravado I have with those two little sentences. He sees right through it. Crap.

With a throaty chuckle, he nods. “Yeah? Like what? Tell me what else makes your panties wet, Daph.”

Oh, shit. Eject. Get me out of here.My eyes are a little wild as I search for something, anything else to say. Anything to get his focus off of the obvious things that turn me on—like him. I point at his shirt, speaking more confidently than I’m feeling. “Star Wars. I’m a huge fangirl.”

“Is that so?” He edges his chair closer to mine, and puts his hand on my knee, sliding it a bit under my skirt. It’s big and warm, and the feel of his calloused fingertips gently caressing my inner thigh all but short circuits my brain. Oh my God, I can’t concentrate on Star Wars when he’s doing that.

I suck in air, trying to act like his touch doesn’t affect me at all. And dammit, how is it I’m doing all the talking, but he’s decidedly in control of the conversation? “Yep. I like picking apart the science of it. Or lack thereof. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can ignore that stuff and love it just the same, but have you ever thought about why all of their planets only seem to have one environment? Like an ice planet or a jungle moon? Seems off to me. Most habitable planets are going to have a rather complex ecosystem, don’t you think? If you live on Tattooine, you wouldn’t want to have to go all the way to Hoth to go ice skating, am I right?”

Holy shit, I don’t know where that babble just came from, but the more I say, the bigger the twist on Micah’s lips becomes and the further up my skirt his hand goes. Shit.Shit, shit, shit. My breath is a little erratic as I forge on, ignoring the burn of his hand on my thigh. “And don’t you find it a little strange that the majority of the main characters in these movies are humanoid? Why would all of these aliens be so biologically similar? The Star Wars galaxy would have to be a far smaller place if we think multiple beings would all evolve so similarly, never mind that they’d all gather at a cantina on Mos Eisley for a drink.”

Holy crap, I’ve let my science nerd and movie buff out in front of Micah all at once.And … I could swear he likes it. Someone help me, because my plan to distract him isn’t working. That, or he’s turning the tables and trying to prove to me that I’m a big, fat liar. Next thing you know, I’ll blurt out that I was dreaming about us getting naked together, about me holding onto his ass for dear life as he thrusts into my body—and then it’ll all be downhill from there.

He hasn’t said anything about my Star Wars rant so far, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. It would be easier to handle Micah if we have something in common. And … maybe we do?

My brows go up, encouraging him to say something. I try to swallow and find I can’t. My own body is betraying me. All I can concentrate on is the lazy sweep back and forth of his fingers over my inner thigh. It’s drugging.

Intoxicating.

Hot.Micah Robertson’s hand is halfway up my skirt. Super popular, football-playing-Rose Micah Robertson. He looks up at me from under hooded eyes. My breath stutters, and my tongue darts out to wet my lip.

That’s when I notice it—his lips are outright twitching. He lets out a sharp burst of laughter. “Fuck. You’re ruining the whole movie franchise for me.”

I’m pretty sure his hand is maybe three inches from the edge of my panties. Show no fear. I smirk at him. “Anyway. I’m just saying most of the science was off. I still love it, though. Now, would you remove your hand from my thigh so we can get some work done?”

He shakes his head, chuckling, but he does as I request. “Do you always talk this fucking much?”

“No. Actually, I don’t.” My teeth scrape over my lower lip as I wonder what he’ll do next. “I thought maybe I could distract you.”

“You did. In more ways than one.” His eyes return to my skirt and then make a lazy path up over my shirt.

If he had X-ray vision, he’d see my nipples are tight little peaks, just like he’d pointed out earlier. I wish he’d touch me again. Just not here in the coffee shop. Well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Shit. I think crazy thoughts when he’s this close to me.

“What exactly do you think you’re distracting me from?”

I nod in the direction of his phone set on the other side of the table. “Whoever upset you earlier.”

And just like that, he shuts me down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I study his features. He’s put on a mask to hide whatever he’s feeling right now—but I know. I’d seen it on his face when he’d come in. I shrug, pretending indifference. “Okay. Let’s get to work, then.”

He pulls out his physics homework and, surprisingly, he listens to the suggestions I provide, asks questions, and makes the process relatively painless. That is, until we get down to the last problem, when he seems somewhat disturbed again after checking his phone.

“Come on, just one more to go.” I throw caution to the wind and nudge him under the table with my knee. “It’s the 4th quarter, and we just passed the two-minute warning, Micah. Let’s buckle down and finish this.”

A flicker of warmth shows in his eyes at my football analogy, but it’s gone quickly. “Why are you still in your school uniform, anyway? Not that I mind. Easy access and all. There’s nothing quite like the ease of stealing into the bathroom in the middle of the school day, flipping a skirt up, and going at it.”

My lips part involuntarily, but I catch myself before I let him know just how far he’s thrown me off balance. I inhale carefully. My blazer hangs on the back of the chair, and I look at the button-down shirt hiding my 32-A bust and smooth my hands over my skirt—cringing at the idea of what he must see when he looks at me. I decide to play it off like what he just said didn’t make my jaw want to drop wide open in astonishment. Does he really screw girls in the bathroom at school? I’m such a naive idiot. Of course he does. This guy and I shouldn’t even exist in the same galaxy, much less on the same planet.

The best I can do is try to ignore what I know was an attempt at getting a rise out of me. I release the breath I’d been holding. “Oh. I didn’t go home today before coming here.”

---