He takes his helmet off as he storms through the door then plops it on my desk. I try to straighten my back and force myself to look him in the eye. Everything about him, from his wild eyes to his heaving chest, displays an intensity I didn’t know possible. I’ve made him mad before, and I’ve even pissed him off so bad that he’s kicked walls and threatened me; but this is a different kind of intensity. His eyes slide over mine, back and forth, back and forth, almost as if he’s trying to figure something out. Maybe some rationale behind my behavior, or the truth as to why I refuse to take the money. If he figures out what possessed to me toss such an ungodly amount of cash out of my old, beat-up Jeep’s window, I’d like for him to explain it to me, because I can’t manufacture any kind of explanation. The best I can say is that the man is so infuriating that he makes me lose my faculties when he’s around and I end up doing the stupidest stuff.
It happens so fast that I almost miss the movement. He lifts his arm and wraps his hand around the back of my neck. Fear strikes at my heart in expectation of a pain that doesn’t come. I stumble forward as he pulls me so close to his body that we’re practically flush from my chest all the way down to my knees.
“We need to have a talk,” he says in the quietest way possible. I try to nod, but his grip kind of immobilizes my head.
“Okay,” I whisper. He turns us just slightly and slowly walks me backward. It’s awkward, walking like this, with his feet practically stepping all over mine, and me being unable to see where I’m going, much less the path we’re taking. A shadow falls over as we enter the small nook around the corner from the hall that leads down to Mr. Beck’s office. I hit a hard surface that I recognize as the door to the janitor’s closet, and Grady stops, now absolutely flush against me. I breathe slightly easier knowing that Margot can’t see us from her desk, because whatever is happening here is plenty embarrassing without having to re-live it via the gossip chain He’s much larger in such close proximity, with his entire body resting against mine and his hand cradling my neck. Slowly, he tilts my neck so that I’m forced to face him.
“You threw twenty-five grand out of a moving vehicle,” he says.
“I’m crazy,” I say immediately. He smashes his lips together, which distracts me from the whole intense eyeball thing he’s got going on. His lips part and he pulls in a deep, shuttered breath. I try to form a coherent sentence, but it’s difficult. He’s kind of intoxicating in this small space. “You make me crazy.”
“Why don’t we just get this out of the way, huh?” he says quietly. “I want to taste your pussy.” My face heats at the thought of him putting his tongue to a good use for once. Pressure builds in my head, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve stopped breathing.
“You see that—that nervous excitement you’re feeling? I’m under your skin. You don’t have to like it, but I’m there,” he says so quietly it comes out as a whisper. He reaches out with his free hand and strokes my arm with a single finger. His touch is light, but it sends chills down my spine. “Something you should know about me, babe. I don’t go into shit blind. You think I don’t know you, but I do. I know every asshole who’s been inside of you, I know every place you’ve called home—even the places you don’t want me to know about. I know the way you like your coffee, and I know how you think. The shit I don’t know, you’ll tell me. Eventually, I’m going to know every dirty little part of you, and if you think I make you crazy now, just wait until I bury my dick inside you.”
I think I’m stunned into silence, because my brain isn’t functioning in the least, but then my mouth starts moving and I realize, in horror, that I’m talking. “We’re making each other insane. I’ve heard about this before—meeting someone who actually drives you to develop a mental health disorder. What else could possibly explain the fact that I’m not completely disgusted by you?”
“You want my dick,” he says quietly. I clamp my mouth shut to stop myself from protesting. At some point I’m going to admit to myself that the lady doth protest too much, and that possibility scares me.
His free hand travels down my arm and then over to my belly. My muscles tighten nervously as he places his hand on my hip where the bullet grazed my flesh. His thumb rubs small circles over the small scar that doesn’t look like it’s going to disappear anytime soon.
“How’s the nick?” he asks. The room is heating up quickly, and I think the only thing I could do about it would be to put some distance between him and me.
“Fine,” I say. My lungs barely have enough oxygen in them to get the word out.
“No more avoiding me,” he says. I’m an idiot—I nod in agreement. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I want to argue with him about it, but not avoiding him gets muscled, taut man parts pressed up against me, and even if it is at work, and it is embarrassing, it’s been a while.
“No more being an asshole,” I say. If he’s going to give orders, I’m going to at least bargain for a fair deal.
“I’ll try,” he says. It’s something, and I should take it, but I don’t.
“I won’t avoid you so long as you’re not an asshole,” I say. My eyes catch sight of his lips, and I’m distracted all over again.
“Don’t avoid me and I won’t be an asshole,” he says. The intensity of the conversation is broken just slightly by the small smile that appears on his lips.
“I doubt you’re capable of that,” I murmur. He bends down and presses his forehead to mine.
“Take the money.”
“You’re being an asshole.”
“Money.“