No one’s ever made me hot and bothered by just talking to me, and it’s not even dirty talk.
I can’t help closing my eyes for a moment, enjoying the onset of sexual tension. When I open them barely a second later, I find him staring at me, his tongue tracing his lower lip.
And is that the slightest hint of a smile I glimpse on his lips?
It can’t be because that would imply he’s—
Laughing at me.
I cringe.
“Jerk,” I mutter.
“Really? Do you know who I am?” he asks, completely oblivious to my growing annoyance with him.
My brows shoot up. “Should I? I don’t think so…unless you’ve done something worth remembering, like saving the world or—”
I gesture with my hand, trying hard to think of something that could prove my point. Truth is, I most certainly wouldn’t forget him if I knew who he was because he’s anything but forgettable.
His grin turns into laughter. I stare at him, confused.
I just insulted his expensive ass.
Why the fuck is he laughing?
“Trust me, if I did something, you wouldn’t be asking. You’d definitely be feeling it for days to come.” His green gaze shimmers, challenging me. “I might be a jerk, but I’m the kind of jerk who always lets the woman come first. And not just once.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
Sensing my confusion, he continues, “Either way, I’m okay with settling this incident privately.”
“How do you propose we do it?”
“I know a few ways.” His lips crack open into a smile.
My jaw drops. Is he hitting on me? Can’t be because—
“What?” I croak, my voice suddenly hoarse and my body on fire. My nipples strain against the thin fabric of my top, and most certainly not because of the cool NYC air.
Oh, the traitors!
Mr. Sex On Legs licks his lips slowly and deliberately, his gaze seemingly glued to my heaving chest. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s eye-fucking my breasts. Hell, in his dirty mind, I’m probably eagle-spread on his bed with him on top of me.
“I’m sorry. I don’t follow.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of his words. “What are you talking about?”
“You can repay the damage by going out with me tonight,” he says. “After which we can head over to my place.”
I blink once, twice. My mouth parts ever so slightly. My labored breath barely makes it past my suddenly parched lips.
Fuck, that’s hot!
Oh, I want that.
I haven’t been with anyone in more than a year. It’s been so long I wouldn’t be surprised to find cobwebs down there.
If I were into one-night stands, he’d be perfect. Hot, arrogant, the kind who wouldn’t even think about asking for your number, let alone call you after you’d done the dirty deed.
But there’s no way in hell I’d hook up with someone who’s so obvious and obnoxious about it. Somewhere in the background, I can hear my phone ringing, reminding me that time is of the essence.
“Is that your boyfriend calling?” He grins. “You seem to be ignoring him.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“No boyfriend, then.” His arrogance is monumental. You can probably see it from outer space. And it irritates the hell out of me. “So, what do you say? In case you didn’t get it, I asked—”
“I heard you loud and clear, and the answer’s no.”
“No?” His brows shoot up in surprise.
“No.”
“You sure?” He peels his gaze off my breasts, albeit unwillingly, and finally settles on my face.
I cross my arms over my chest and regard him coolly. “Has your flavor of the day stood you up and now you’re in desperate need of a replacement hookup? I’m no replacement fuck, ever. There’s definitely not going to be any coming. And I’m not a hooker. I’m not offering up my body to pay for the damage to your car.”
“I figured that much. At least let me buy you a drink, and we’ll take it from there.” His gaze sweeps over me again in that deliberate, tantalizing way. “You owe me.”
In spite of his harmless words, I can feel what he’s thinking.
“Owe you?” I laugh. “Why are you like this? You don’t even know me.”
“In my line of work, I don’t have time to waste, especially not when I like what I see.” He peers behind him. I follow his line of sight to the long queue in front of the club.
What is it that he does?
Is he a pimp?
A drug lord?
I’m fascinated and curious as hell.
I almost take the bait and ask, but bite my tongue to stop myself before I do.
“Sorry, I think I’ll pass. You’re not my type.” I take a step back to put some distance between us. A pang of disappointment flashes across his face, but he seems to get the message.
“I’m everybody’s type,” he says. “You just have to realize it.”
I have no doubt about that, but I keep my stony expression in place, proud that I’ve just rejected the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Later, in the loneliness and privacy of my four walls, I’ll probably feel differently.
His flirty expression seems to change before my eyes.