Page 670 of Hell Hath No Fury
And I swear to God, I felt his perusal like strong fingers caressing my skin.
His Adam’s apple moved with a hard swallow as his attention lingered on my breasts.
Surprise halted me a few feet from him.
His focus moved to my face, and although he was quick to bank it, there was no mistaking the heat in his eyes.
Holy shit.
Foster was attracted to me.
I crossed my arms over my chest and then realized the action pushed my boobs out and drew even more attention to them, so I dropped my arms, feeling awkward.
And very, very almost naked in my blue bikini.
“Well?” he snapped.
I raised an eyebrow at his tone and bristled.
Was he mad that he was attracted to me?
Why? Because I was a thirty-six-year-old massage therapist and being sexually interested in me was mortifying to him?
Man-child.
I bet he wouldn’t even know what to do with a woman like me.
Screw him.
If he was uncomfortable because he found me attractive, that was his problem. I cocked a hip. “You’re asking me for a favor … don’t you think you should at least pretend to be polite?”
Foster narrowed his beautiful eyes. “You do make it difficult.”
“I didn’t even say a word,” I argued.
“It’s your attitude.” He took a step toward me. “I need help with my kid, and you’re deliberately …” He gestured vaguely to me.
“I’m what?” I moved into him. “Breathing?”
“I don’t even know why I bothered.” His angry eyes dipped to my mouth and back up again. “You’re clearly not the best person to watch Georgie, anyway.”
That pretentious prick. I stiffened. “Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the second time you’ve questioned my ability to be a responsible adult around a five-year-old. I want to know why, with so little effort to get to know me, you think you do. Know me, that is.”
He shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
A hunch?
“Well, you’re best friends with Colt, so I’m sure he could vouch for me. And probably already has. So why have you made this snap judgment about my capabilities? Is it perhaps becauseyou’re a country-club snob who thinks anyone without a college degree, or any woman who hasn’t been married by the time she’s thirty, is deficient in some way?”
“Now who’s jumping to conclusions?”
“Jumping to conclusions? You more than insinuated that a woman who looks like me who’s still single at my age—ouch, by the way—must have something wrong with her. Then you’ve twice implied that I am incapable of looking after a child. Why, when you know so little about me, would you draw that conclusion? Of course, I’d assume it was out of pure elitism and sexism.”
“So I’m an elitist and sexist now?” He stepped into me, our chests brushing, and I gasped at the sparks that electrified my skin and set my pulse racing. Foster tensed, his gaze dropping to my mouth again.
