But then, he slowly shook his head. "No."
Relief coursed through me, and I let out a long, shaky breath. "Well that's good."
But then, he spoke again. "You ever think of moving?"
The question caught me off guard. I didn’t like it. And yet, I forced a nervous laugh. "Yeah, to Hawaii."
But Jaden wasn't laughing. "It's no joke."
At something in his expression, I grew very still. "What do you mean?"
His gaze locked on mine. "I'm gonna find you a transfer."
What the hell? I almost didn't know what to say. "To where?"
"I dunno. We've got offices all over the world. You can take your pick."
I gave a confused shake of my head. "What?"
"I'm just saying, there are a lot of nice places."
So he was shuffling me off?
Was that it?
Unbelievable.
Through clenched teeth, I said, "Nice. Places. Are you serious?"
He shoved a hand through his hair. "Or shit, I'll go."
I felt like I was losing my mind. "You'll go where?"
"I dunno. Maybe New York, Chicago." He shrugged. "There's always Miami."
Miami – that's where he'd gone with Morgan during my first week of work. By now, I'd already learned from Morgan herself that the trip hadn't been a vacation at all, but rather it was related to some work project she'd been finishing up. The way she'd talked, she and Jaden had barely seen each other during that whole week.
But all of that was ancient history. At the moment, Miami was the furthest thing from my mind.
In front of me, Jaden was saying, "Or London."
Was he serious? He'd literally move to a different country to get away from me? It sure sounded like it.
But why?
I studied his face. "What am I missing?"
"Alright, you want me to be blunt?"
I scoffed, "Aren't you always?"
"No." His voice grew quiet. "Not with you."
I almost rolled my eyes. "You're kidding, right?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you're blunt with me all the time."
"Yeah, but that's all bullshit."
"What's bullshit?" I demanded.
"For every one thing I say, there's ten I don't."
"Oh really?" I crossed my arms. "Like about what?"
His gaze met mine. "Your hair."
"What about it?"
"It's long."
"So?"
"And blonde." Again, his voice grew quiet. "And soft."
"How would you know it's soft?"
"I can tell."
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I reached up and ran a hand through my hair. It was soft, but that was beside the point. Again, I said, "So?"
"So, I think about it."
I felt myself swallow. "You think about my hair?"
"And other things."
"Like what?"
"Trust me. You don’t want to know."
He was wrong. I did.
And now, I couldn’t help but scoff, "Oh yeah? Well what about your hair?"
"What about it?"
"It's all thick and…" I hesitated. "…luscious."
He was still frowning. "Luscious?"
"Yeah. And don't give me that look. It's not my fault your hair's luscious."
"Oh yeah? Then don't blame me for your legs."
I glanced down. I was wearing a skirt, but he couldn’t see my legs now, unless he had superpowers and could see through my desk or something. I murmured, "My legs?"
"Yeah." He gave a tight shrug. "They look good in dresses. Shorts, too."
"Fine," I snapped. "Then don't blame me for your chest."
He looked down. "My chest?"
"Yeah, it's all hard and muscly and stuff. And those tattoos? They're a serious distraction."
With him in short sleeves, I could see a few of his tattoos now – not the ones on his chest of course, but the ones on his arms. They were right there, as clear as day, inked over the more intriguing lines of his sculpted muscles.
He gave me a look. "Yeah? Well mine sucks compared to yours."
I was almost too distracted to think. "My what?"
His gazed dipped briefly to my blouse. "Your chest."
I lowered my head to look. I wasn't terribly well endowed, but what I did have was pretty darn perky, especially now.
That one single glance from Jaden had hardened my nipples to the point of distraction, and I felt that familiar ache deep in my core.
When I looked up, Jaden was still frowning, but in a totally different way.
The frown looked eerily familiar – not because I'd seen it on him, but rather because I'd seen it on my own face way too often, usually in the morning after a night of Jaden-fueled fantasies.
My breath caught.
Holy hell.
He wanted me, too.
And he wasn't any happier about it than I was.
Talk about messed up.
I heard myself ask, "What happened with Victoria?"
"Victoria who?"
"Oh, please. You know who. That account executive you met last Friday. Did you see her in New York?"
"Yeah. I saw her."
I'd never been one to play games. "Then why'd you act like you didn't know who I meant?"
"Because I'm not thinking of her."
"You're not?"
"Fuck no." He gave a low scoff. "I haven't thought of her all week."
"But you said you saw her."
"Yeah. For five minutes. I spent the rest of the week upstate working on a new acquisition."
No doubt, he meant a new property or facility. But that wasn't what I wanted to talk about. "So, you weren't…" I wasn't quite sure how to put it. "…hanging out with her?"
"Hell no."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Why would I be?"
I cleared my throat. "Well, it just seemed like you were interested, that's all."
He gave me a look. "You sure about that?"
I gave it some thought. Actually, she seemed a lot more interested in him than he'd seemed in her. Cautiously, I said, "So, you didn't–"
"No."
"Why not?"
"You serious?"
I tried for a casual shrug. "Well, I am curious."
"Alright, you want a reason? I haven't wanted anyone in weeks."
"You haven't?"
It wasn't lost on me that the conversation had taken a decidedly personal turn. But there was no way I was changing course now – even if he hadn't yet answered the question.
I tried again. More softly now, I asked, "Are you serious? That you haven't wanted anyone?"
"No."
I blinked. "So you're not serious?"
"I've wanted one person."
Suddenly, I could hardly speak. "Really?"
He nodded. "And you know who she is."
I did know. I could see it in his eyes. And probably, he could see it in mine, too. I heard myself say, "Well, maybe if we got it out of our system…"
"Meaning?"
I cleared my throat. "I'm just saying, it's probably like an itch or something."
He gave me a look. "An itch."
I bit my lip. Talk about unfortunate phrasing.
"Not an itchy itch," I clarified. "I just mean like a mental itch, something that needs to be…" I paused, searching for the right word. Finally, I settled on "…resolved."
Resolved?
Oh, please.
The word didn't begin to describe how I felt. I'd been thinking of him way too much. I'd been dreaming of him every night. I'd been acting on those dreams too – but only in my secret fantasies.
I knew he was my boss, but there was nothing professional about the way I felt. He was like a cookie in the cupboard, something that I couldn’t stop thinking about, regardless of all my good intentions.
As the silence stretched out between us, I felt my tongue brush against my upper lip. I didn't even realize I was doing it
until his gaze drifted to my mouth, and I saw his lips part, just a fraction.
Now, I was absolutely certain. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him.
And that's when I knew.
I was going for that cookie.
After all, there were times when you just needed to eat it and be done with the whole thing. And then, bright and early the next day, you could get on with your life – start a new workout routine or take an extra lap around the gym.
It made perfect sense, right?
Tomorrow, I'd be extra good to make up for what I desperately wanted tonight.
Him.
I felt my lips curve into a slow smile. Yes. It was the perfect solution, or so I thought until, with two simple words, he slammed the cookie-cupboard shut.
"Forget it."
Chapter 47
I blinked. "What?"
"Forget it," he repeated.
I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. He was turning me down?
Seriously?
How humiliating was this?
My face burned with sudden embarrassment. "Oh."
Other than that, I didn't know what to say. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined that he'd pass up the chance for quick and easy sex.
After all, I knew his reputation. He was a horn-dog, plain and simple. So why wasn't he a horn-dog with me?
Was it because I worked for him?
Or was I simply not his type?
The thought of asking for clarification was too horrifying to consider, so instead, I yanked open my bottom desk drawer and grabbed my purse. No need to stick around, right?
I was just reaching for my cell phone when he said, "I know what you're thinking."
I stopped in mid-motion. "No, you don't." This was definitely true, because I didn't even know what I was thinking. I just knew that it wasn't good.
He said, "You think I'm turning you down."
What did that mean? He wasn't?
Well so what? He had his chance. And besides, quick and easy sex had never been my style anyway.
By now, the cookie had totally lost its appeal. Really, it had.
I tossed him a cold smile, along with the same two words he'd just used on me. "Forget it."
And with this, I grabbed my phone and hurled it into my purse. And then, I strode out of my office, brushing past him and heading toward the suite's main door.
With whatever dignity I had left, I'd simply march out with my head held high. Or at least, that was my plan – a plan that sounded just fine until he said in a low voice, "You're smart for leaving."
My steps faltered, but I resisted the urge to turn around. Without looking back, I said, "It doesn't matter. It was stupid, anyway."
His voice cut through the distance. "Yeah. It was."
Now, I couldn’t help but stop. What a jerk.
With slow deliberation, I turned back to face him. He hadn't moved, and the gulf between us seemed impossibly large. For some stupid reason, my gaze drifted to his pelvis, and I felt myself swallow.
In his jeans, there was a distinct bulge that hadn't been there just five minutes ago.
Speaking of impossibly large.
Even if his words said one thing, his body was clearly saying another. I knew the feeling. Even now, my tongue was once again brushing against my upper lip. I sucked it back in and glowered at him for good measure.
He'd just called me stupid. Or at least, he'd called my suggestion stupid.
Was it stupid?
Yes. Definitely.
But did he have to say so?
No. He didn't.
I made a scoffing sound. "Thanks for rubbing my face in it."
Oh, God, even that sounded stupid, or at the very least, vaguely obscene.
"In what?" he asked.
My gaze drifted downward. Well, not your massive cock, that's for sure.
I almost cringed. What the hell was wrong with me?
Once again, I yanked my gaze upward and then gave him a look he totally deserved – one of scorn and impatience. Or at least, that had been my original intention.
But he looked so damned good, standing there, a dark and dangerous silhouette in the dimly lit office. His eyes were brooding, and his lips were full. And his body – shit – it was a body made for sin.
Already, I'd seen him shirtless, but I'd never seen him pantless before. And yet, my imagination was painting a glorious picture.
Deliberately, I looked away, trying to focus on our surroundings and not him.
The office suite was really nice. It even had a large sofa, right there, just a few paces away. It was big and oversized like, well, not his erection, that's for sure.
Damn it.
This whole thing totally sucked. I'd never felt this way about anyone before. He made me crazy in every possible way. He was sweet and horrible, sexy and repellent, tempting and...well, more tempting.
And now, I was looking at him again. Before I could think, I'd already blurted out, "You know, I don't even like you."
He didn't even blink. "Yeah? Good to know."
"And I bet you're not half as good as you look."
"You're right." Something in his gaze warmed. "I'm twice as good as I look."
Good Lord. The arrogance was stunning. And yet, my body responded, growing warm and ready deep in my core.
Still, I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please."
"Please?" he said. "Is that a request?"
"What? Like I'm begging you or something?"
He gave a tight shrug. "It wouldn't be the first time."
God, he was such a tool. "Well, aren't you full of yourself?"
And of course, this like everything else, sounded a whole lot dirtier than I'd intended. Or maybe it was just my thoughts that were dirty. I didn't want him to be full of himself. I wanted him to be filling me, assuming that I could take all of him, that is.
Then again, I always did like a challenge.
Slowly, I reached up and touched the side of my face. In reality, I wanted to slap it, like they did in those old-time movies when someone was acting completely nuts.
But then, like a predator on the prowl, he took a single step closer, and my hand dropped limply to my side.
In a quiet voice, he said, "It's only arrogance when you don't deliver."
The comment was beyond twisted. After all, he'd made it perfectly clear that he wouldn't be delivering anything my way.
Good.
And yet, when he took another step in my direction, I couldn’t seem to make myself back away. If I had any self-respect, I surely would. And while I was at it, I'd tell him exactly what he could do with his arrogance and innuendos.
But I said nothing and made no move. Instead, I waited. For what, I didn't know.
Soon, he was standing within arm's reach. With him so close, I had to crane my neck to stare up at him. My heart was racing, and I was having a hard time catching my breath. Something was definitely going to happen. I just didn't know what.
When he spoke, his voice was nearly a caress. "You wanna know why I said to forget it?"
"Why?"
"Because you make me so fucking crazy."
The statement hung there between us, confusing me, twisting me, and finally, compelling me to ask in a breathless whisper, "Crazy how?"
He edged a fraction closer. "That's the question, isn't it? I've been asking it, you know."
My breath hitched. "You have?"
He gave a slow nod, even as his gaze drifted leisurely downward, skimming me from head to toe. In that same low voice, he said, "I've been asking, 'What the hell is it? Her tight little body? The sweetness of her mouth?'" Now, he looked almost ready to smile. "'That look she gets, right before flipping out?'"
"Flipping out?" My gaze narrowed. "What do you mean by–?"
He leaned forward and silenced me with a kiss. The kiss wasn't gentle, but then again, I didn't want it to be.
When I gave a muffled moan, his arms closed around me, pulling me close, even as I reac
hed up and laced my fingers around the back of his neck.
I sagged against him, savoring the feel of his lean, hard body as his mouth moved so perfectly against my own.
I pressed tighter against him, savoring the feel of his erection surging against my stomach, teasing and taunting me, with its size, its hardness, and its promise of delivering something that I'd been craving for far too long.
I still wasn't sure what we were doing, or how far we'd go. I just knew that I didn't want it to stop.
But already, he was pulling back – first his lips and then his whole body. Soon, we weren't touching at all, and the world suddenly felt a million times colder.
I wanted to whimper out loud. Who knows, maybe I did.
His gaze met mine. "You really want this?"
I did – so very much. I felt myself nod.
His voice was low in the quiet room. "You know, I'm not the boyfriend type."
His eyes were dark and way too compelling. I murmured, "What?"
"I don’t do relationships."
At this, I almost laughed in his face. "I wasn't asking for a relationship."
It was true. I wasn't. I didn't even like him, at least not enough to consider him more than a guilty pleasure.
Again, I thought of that proverbial cookie. Like Jaden, it was a quick indulgence, something to get out of my system. And then, I'd be free to move on to something a whole lot healthier.
I made a scoffing sound. "And what makes you think I'd even want one, a relationship, I mean. You're not even my type."
"Good. Because you're not mine either."
"Oh yeah?" I said, more curious than anything. "So what is your type?"
"Slutty."
Now, I did laugh. "Slutty? Seriously?"
"Hey, it works."
"With what?"
"My goals."
"Which are?" I asked.
"To stay unattached."
Maybe the comment should've bothered me. But it didn't. The last thing I needed now was to fall for a guy who I barely liked.
No, what I needed was to scratch that itch, to gobble up that cookie, and to get him out of my system so I could forget him and move on.
But then, I paused. Would that even be possible? I'd never done a one-night stand. And he wasn't some stranger in a bar. He was my boss, which meant that I saw him practically every day, unless he'd been serious about that whole transfer idea.
I didn't want a transfer. I wanted him.
Suddenly inspired, I said, "But let's get one thing straight. You're not my boss."
One Bad Idea: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance Page 20