Page 2 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

“How dare you touch me?” I glare at him, spitting the words, trying to ignore the way my body is still humming, still begging for him to show me how in control he is and how he can make me respond to him - whether I want to or not.

I'm even more confused because this is all new territory for me. James never once tried to pull my hair, and if he had, I probably would have slapped him. This is something I had no idea I even liked until all of a sudden it was sprung on me when I least expected it.

All the more infuriating is the slight curve at the edges of Troy's lips, that annoyingly frustrating smile that tells me he knows exactly what kind of an effect he just had on my body.

For now, I'm going to tell myself that he simply caught me off balance and in a vulnerable place, feeling very alone because my best friend is married.

“I apologize if I startled you.” He takes a step closer to me and I can't help but wonder if he's deliberately missing the point. I'm not upset because he startled me; I’m upset because he feels like it’s his God-given right to pull my hair and press his body to mine. Even thinking about it my whole body heats back up and I quickly try to shove those thoughts down and ignore the way they make me feel.

I know what kind of man Troy is, and he's not one that I can afford to feel any kind of attraction to. Not if I want to keep my heart intact and continue healing from the last bad relationship I was in.

“You’re sorry you startled me?” I say, watching him approach and refusing to back up. I'm not going to let this man bully me.

His dark eyebrows lift a fraction of an inch, giving me the only indication of emotion other than lust - if lust is an emotion - from him. “Well, I'm certainly not going to apologize for turning you on.” The corners of his lips tug up a little bit more, and I want to slap him as he takes another step closer, his body only a whisper away from mine.

The rich scent of his cologne tickles my nose and I struggle not to inhale. It's not fair that he smells so good, or that he wears such a light touch of fragrance that the smokey, wooden crisp scent sneaks up on me instead of punching me in the face like most guys’ scent seems to do.

“In fact, I think you want me to do it again.” His words are a little more than a whisper, his warm breath fanning my face as he leans in to speak directly into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Do you want me to pull your hair and make you moan again, little one?”

“Don't call me that.” The words rasp from my throat, and it feels as if every drop of saliva in my mouth has completely dried up. Really? I really like being called little one? I think I need to have a talk with my brain and my body to try to get to the bottom of this because it feels unacceptable. What's even more unacceptable is how he managed to crack the code while knowing absolutely nothing about me. And yet, maybe he knows more about me than I do.

“I know who you are, what you did, and I'm not interested.” I guess maybe he was staring at me the whole time. I glance toward the arch. “And I should probably get back. They’re going to miss me if I'm not at the reception on time.” It’s a subtle dig to let him know that people will come looking and will likely notice he’s not around either. While I doubt he cares about his reputation, the last thing I want anyone to think is that something might be happening between me and the awful, pretty playboy who’s known for being a downright dog.

What I don't want to think about is that being here, turned on by him, feels like I'm betraying my best friend. But the way he's staring at me, like he wants to devour me whole, has my heart slamming.

Has he always been this good looking with those cold blue eyes, sandy brown hair, movie star good looks, and full lips that look like they would feel amazing on whatever part of my body he wanted to put them on?

I try to slam the brakes on those thoughts as he studies me, as if searching for the right thing to say to either get me off guard or have his way with me. Finally, instead of speaking, he gives a grin, showing off white teeth and a heart throbbing smile as he runs a hand through his short sandy hair. I'm left wondering how someone in a suit can look so evil, good-looking, and like a villain.

“Nobody talks to me like that, little one. Not even you.”

The audacity of this man is astounding. I tilt my head slightly and respond back in my sweetest voice. “Well, I just did, so good luck with that.” Without saying another word and feeling like I've won this battle, I step around him and make my way to the arch that separates me from freedom.

“I'm not done with you yet.” His dangerously soft voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I freeze in place. I feel him walk up behind me, even though he doesn’t so much as touch me. Instead, he lowers his lips to my ear and speaks in that deep, throat growl that sends an army of goosebumps parading up and down my arms and across my chest until I feel my nipples harden against my snug bra. “I always get what I want, little one. And I want you.”

Chapter Two

Troy

I can't stop thinking about how she'd reacted to me, how her body responded, the way her breathing had quickened and all of a sudden her skin began to overheat.

Now as we sit in the reception hall, I can’t keep my eyes off her, even though she has no problem avoiding me. The gray silk dress she's wearing clings to her mouthwatering curves, and all I want to do is bend her over and pull the long skirts up over her back to see if she's wearing panties underneath. And, of course, I want to bury myself inside her over and over again until I relieve this ache I feel for her.

I must be losing my mind; I've never been after a woman so hard before.

“Everly? She’s good looking.” Arson Black picks up his drink and takes a deep swallow of the beer and for the millionth time, I wonder why Blake invited him. Sure, I know him from Club Red, he's another billionaire, but he's absolutely forgettable in every other way; though I have a feeling the ladies would disagree with my assessment of him.

He's a newcomer to the scene, a transplant from another state looking to make his mark in a new city, who found his way into Club Red and the good graces of both Blake and Rico. I don’t care for him much, though. Now his light hazel eyes are locked on Everly, and I want to acquaint his face with my fist.

He glances in my direction and I see a knowing light in his eyes. “Why don’t we make it interesting?”

He somehow seems not to realize that I haven't said a damn word to him and don’t want to listen to whatever he has to say next.

He continues to talk, his attention wandering back to her. “A thousand dollars says you’ll never get her into bed.”

I let out an internal snort. A thousand dollars isn't even worth the time taken to entertain his idea. “No thanks.”

His gaze slides to me. “Fine. How about a hundred thousand?”

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