Page 23 of Blurred Lines

“I was just being friendly.”

Could I have overreacted? His touch had made me uncomfortable, but what if I’d misjudged his intentions?

“You overstepped, and your membership is terminated, effective immediately.”

Cristian was taking my side? I gripped his hand harder, barely daring to breathe. My old boss at the bar had sided with the perverts every single time. I’d grown so used to being disbelieved that I’d stopped mentioning the problem.

“You can’t do that. I paid for a year upfront.”

“Talk to Debra at the front desk, and she’ll refund the unused portion.”

“I want to speak to your manager, young man. This is unacceptable.”

“I own the place. Get out.”

“There must be a process in place for this.”

“Clause nineteen of the contract says membership can be revoked at management’s discretion following inappropriate behaviour. You signed that agreement.”

Another voice spoke up from the steam. “You can’t touch the women, man. That’s not cool.”

“Do you want to walk out, or should I get my staff to assist you?”

“You’ll hear from my lawyer about this,” the man spat.

“I look forward to it.”

Cristian held the door open, and a blur in blue shorts marched past, cursing liberally as he went. Only once he’d vanished did I take a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” Cristian asked as he led me out of the steam room. I couldn’t let go of his hand. I had no idea what I might trip over otherwise.

“It’s been a really bad week.”

“Right.” He turned to face me, and I felt rather than saw him raise an eyebrow. “Mr. Hotly?”

“Oh, hell.” It came out as a whisper, and my knees buckled. “It was just a placeholder name in a stupid writing exercise.”

Cristian leaned in close, close enough that his lips brushed my ear. My nipples hardened instantly, which he probably noticed when my breasts squashed against his chest. Was it possible to die just from thinking about it?

“So you don’t want me to fuck you in the shower? Or over my desk? Or on a weight bench, or in the sauna, or beside the pool?”

I did. I wanted him to do all of those things. Cristian Garza wasn’t the gentleman I’d dreamed of meeting, but he was the man I was drawn to like a moth to a flame. My body ached for him. He was the only man I’d ever written more than one scene for, and he’d starred in my fantasies too.

“If you keep biting that lip, I’m not responsible for the consequences,” he said through gritted teeth.

Consequences. I liked the sound of consequences. I wanted his strong hands, his talented tongue, and the cock that was thickening against my hip. Forget all the careful analysis I’d done in the past about a man’s motivations—where had that gotten me? What existed between us was more primal, a desperate need to have each other in any way possible. I felt it now. I felt what he’d kept hidden and what I’d tried to deny.

Slowly, deliberately, I bit my lip again.

He moved faster than I’d thought possible. A second later, I was in his arms, still half-blind, clinging to his neck as he took me wherever he pleased.

“You wrote about me the first time I walked into that café,” he said as he climbed a flight of stairs, a statement rather than a question.

“Yes.”

“You wanted me to thrust away inside you, hitting that magic spot over and over until you screamed my name.”

“Yes.”

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