Emotion flares in his eyes.
It’s been forever since I’ve been this close to Max. Forever since I studied the stray brown fleck in one of his otherwise intensely blue eyes, pale at the center, like a ring of ice formed in there.
“You’re telling me what sandwich I want,” he gusts out, his words like feathers on my forehead.
“That’s right, Max. It’s the sandwich,” I enunciate sassily, “that you want.”
“If I’d wanted it,” he says, “don’t you think I would’ve had it?”
“Not necessarily,” I say, “being that you have no idea of how amazing it is. All that you’ve missed out on. So sad…”
Something in the way he looks at me changes; his nostrils flare, and for a crazy second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
For a crazy second, I want him to. I’m the amazing one, I think. I’m the one you missed out on.
The moment stretches on. I don’t know where we’ve gone, but the sandwich is nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly he straightens. He turns and walks the few feet back to his desk, him and his perfect suit.
I stand there gawking, thinking he probably requests his suits be made a little too tight through the shoulders in order to give the optical illusion of a perfect body, strong and lithe and predatorial like a lion, accentuated by the finest fabric. Only the best will do when it comes to kissing and cupping Max Hilton’s muscular torso as he prowls his office.
He grabs the sandwich and turns, leans back, butt against the desk, eyes boring into mine. Then he takes a bite, eyes never leaving mine.
My stomach tightens as he chews.
I have a lot of customers to attend to, a lot more tips to get for myself. I have the Edgar building next. If I take too long, people will be mad.
But none of that matters.
I’m furious with excitement and something that feels strangely like happiness.
He chews, looking deliberative.
And then his gaze drops to the sandwich.
He thinks it’s delicious—I can tell. I feel like my smile might crack my face. “Right?”
He looks back up. Narrows his eyes.
“Oh, snap,” I say. “Who’s your daddy?”
He snorts, and for a second, he’s not my enemy. For a second, it feels amazing to have introduced him to this sandwich, one of my personal favorites. He dabs the sides of his mouth with a napkin.
“The sandwich that you want.”
He watches me. Battling with himself, no doubt. Trying to find some loophole where it’s not true, maybe.
“Right? Admit it.”
“Why is it so important to you?”
Before I know what I’m doing, I go to him, enter his force field of smooth, suave perfection. I have this crazy feeling like I need to break through it. “Because people should admit things.”
“Yeah?” he says. One word. Voice calm like steel.
“So delicious. Oh, the deliciousness that you’ve been missing!”
I’m joking around, but his stern gaze is locked on mine in a way that’s anything but jokey.
The floor seems to dip beneath my feet.
Slowly, without warning, he reaches up and touches the side of my face—one lone fingertip. A featherlight touch that sizzles.
He holds my gaze with those eyes, the bluest of blue with that pale ring of ice, and slowly draws his fingertip along the edge of my jaw, heading for my chin.
I feel like he’s looking into my soul with those eyes.
The air thickens between us. My sex turns molten with excitement.
I should laugh at him and push his hand away, but it’s the last thing I want. Don’t stop is more my thinking.
I’m nearly panting by the time he reaches my chin, but his wicked finger isn’t finished. It’s a knuckle now, and it’s reversing course, slowly trailing backwards across my hyper-sensitive cheek.
I’m dizzy with the gentle sweetness of his touch, like he’s petting a tiny wild bird.
Neither of us says a word, as though that might break the spell.
My breath is quick and shallow—okay, I’m panting—but hopefully not that he can see or hear. Every molecule in my entire being is focused on the progress of his knuckle. Yearning for more.
I keep my face neutral when all I want is to turn into his hand. I don’t even know how I resist. All I want to do is give him everything.
Finally his finger of amazement reaches the tender skin below my ear; then and only then does he stop. He gazes at me even more deeply, as if that’s possible. Something in my belly melts.
I have no breath.
He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek.
One tiny brush of a kiss.
A seismic event in my belly.
Somewhere on the other side of the globe in some tiny island nation, Richter scales are going crazy. Animals are racing into the hills. Nobody understands what has happened. But it’s me, standing in this Manhattan office tower, cracking apart in shards of pure lust.
He pulls back, watching me.
“S-soooo, you really did like the sandwich,” I say.
His lips quirk in a half smile. It’s a smile that I haven’t seen for years, and it lights something deep in me. “Thank you.”
It comes to me that he’s thanking me for the sandwich.
It seems like madness, but yes, what else is he talking about? I put on a sarcastic expression. Like he’s such a freak. “Oh-kay, then.”
His lip twitches. “Chips would go great with this,” he says. “What do you have?”
I give him a look. Don’t you dare—that’s what my look says. You can’t make me show you the chips array. You can’t be an asshole after that.
He circles his finger.
Heat fills my face.
I go back to my cart, grab a bag of cheesy puffs, and toss them at him.
He catches them, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re not going to open the chips for me? What would Meow Squad say?”
“Call ’em and find out.”
He stares at me a bit. “Are you going to get my order right next time?”
“Unlikely.” I grab my cart and turn, pulse racing.
8
Show her you’re the one in charge by creating a system of rewards for good behavior and demerits for behavior you don’t like.
~The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Landing the Hottest Girl in the Room
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