Damn. He’d done it again. How he always managed to say the wrong thing and put her on the defensive was beyond him. Was he really such a condescending prick? He’d never had so much trouble talking to a woman in all his life. Come to think of it, he’d never had so much trouble understanding one, either.
Deep down, he knew the Vixen pitch was just an excuse to get her to agree to dinner with him. He’d considered she might say no, was even prepared for it. He’d never considered that she might actually have other plans. Or that those plans might include another man. Not that he was jealous. Cole Bennett didn’t do jealous. Besides, he wasn’t exactly relationship material, so maybe it was best she was moving on. It would certainly simplify things around the office, assuming the sexual attraction between them fizzled out.
Who was he kidding? It didn’t matter if another guy came sniffing around, he’d still want her. It wasn’t like they needed to be exclusive, anyway. But his desire to devour every inch of Olivia’s delicious body hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown stronger.
Being trapped in the same office together five days a week was going to be torture. Everything about her provided temptation, from the long lines of her neck, to the sway of her hips, and even the way she wore her hair pulled up with those black schoolteacher glasses. He’d often wondered if she had any idea she looked like every teenage boy’s fantasy. And given the fact that she suddenly seemed impervious to his charm, the whole situation was one big exercise in frustration.
“Was there something else?” she asked, slipping into a light coat the same shade of cerulean blue as her eyes.
He wanted to tell her that the coat brought out the color in her eyes or that she looked beautiful. He wanted to tell her to blow off her date and give him a chance to make things up to her. He even wanted to tell her to have fun and enjoy her night off. She certainly deserved it.
Instead he said, “Don’t be late tomorrow. We’ve got a big day.”
Chapter Eleven
Olivia stabbed a piece of broccoli with her fork and aimlessly pushed it around the edge of her plate. The thin white dish balanced precariously on her knees. One wrong move and she’d be scrubbing soy sauce out of the couch for the rest of her life. Chinese takeout had seemed like such a good idea when she’d called in the order, but now that she was eating it, the food felt more like an oily stone settling in her belly.
She was too keyed up to eat. What she really needed was a trip to the gym to burn off some nervous energy and exhaust her overactive brain, but that was out of the question.
If she went to the gym, she’d have to face Chloe, and then Chloe would know she’d nearly had sex with Cole. Again. Chloe had a sense about things like that and Olivia knew there was no way she’d be able to hold out. She would ferret the truth out of her and then she’d never hear the end of it.
Besides, admitting she’d almost had sex with Cole—again—would make the whole thing more real somehow, and she was perfectly happy basking in the state of denial. Denial was a pretty sweet gig. Denial meant a quiet night curled up in her favorite sweats with a YA romance and a bottle of wine. She hadn’t exactly lied when she’d told Cole she had plans, even if it wasn’t really a date. He didn’t need to know it had been Chloe’s latest attempt to set her up. Or that against her better judgment, she’d agreed to have a drink with Alex, one of Chloe’s friends, in a futile effort to erase the stupid dare from her memory. Or that she’d bailed on that, too, and now sat holed up in her apartment, the picture of sexual frustration.
“It doesn’t get much better than this,” she reasoned, dumping the still-full plate on the coffee table and grabbing her Kindle. She snuggled down into the worn couch cushions, waiting for the screen to come to life. Her pulse fluttered in anticipation. There was nothing more invigorating than the promise of young love and heart-stopping first kisses.
Olivia’s book addiction was her one truly guilty pleasure. Some women had shoes, others had jewelry. She had YA lit. Outside of work, reading was the only hobby she consistently made time to indulge. She could skip the gym, bathroom-cleaning, and even a full night’s sleep for a swoon-worthy romance. God knows she wasn’t getting it in real life.
Well, unless you counted Cole. Which she didn’t. Besides, that wasn’t romance. It was lust. Just sex. Totally meaningless. And totally over. Definitely over. Cole was off limits in a big way. Maybe he could afford to be the playboy boss, but she couldn’t afford to be just another conquest. There was just way too much potential for disaster in that. And he was an asshat, anyway.
Too bad she couldn’t stop thinking about him. His eyes. His smile. His hands. Oh, God. Those hands!