office when things inevitably went south
because he screwed up. The best he could ever hope for from a classy chick
like Bree was some hasty tasty drunken favour, never referred to again. So
what the fuck was she asking him to ask her out properly for?
“I told the guys you were
a colleague and it wasn’t right to involve you in this.” He could chew out his
own tongue for every shitty thing he’d said to the boys about Bree. He did not
need to subject her to their scrutiny and he’d do anything to stop it
happening.
“Hang on. You bet if I
won I’d get grovelling and a free feed and now you’re reneging.”
“It’s not like that.”
She shook his hands as if
the answer could be rattled out of them. “What’s it like then?”
It was grubby and
demeaning and he should never have made the bet in the first place. “You don’t
want anything to do with it.”
“And miss seeing you humiliated,
are you kidding?”
He looked down at their
hands. “What’s going on here?”
She laughed, a green,
fresh, musical sound, but when she spoke her voice was hot sweet toffee. “I
don’t know, but I like it.”
“What are we going to do
then?” His body was at war over this question. Only the tiniest part of his
brain was holding out, processing what a bad idea pushing for more than just
being with her like this was. The rest of him was already assessing what her
skin would taste like and what she’d look like with her head thrown back and
her eyes closed when she lost it under him.
“We should probably take
it easy.” He wanted to lick her throat where her sweet voice came from.
“Is that a nice way of telling
me whoa Nelly?”
She wet her lips. “Not
necessarily.”
The remainder of the guts
he hadn’t already spilled in her lap somersaulted. “Whoa Nelly. You mean,
you’d consider...” he ran out of words. Not because there weren’t any left,
but because there were too many that could be used to complete the sentence,
and he couldn’t choose between the professional: ‘developing our relationship’,
the benign, ‘letting me take you out’, or the new truth he suddenly knew was
about to interrupt his romantically carefree life.
He wanted something more
than a one night stand with this girl.
“Do you want to kiss me,
Ant?”
He shook his head. The
lie coming easy because the truth was foreign and dangerous. She freaking
pouted, pushing that juicy bottom lip out. What was he supposed to say? His,
“Fuck, yeah,” came out hollow and achy, like he’d chewed his tongue out.
She moved first. She
leaned that extra bit forward, then stopped. He exhaled in surprise. Beer and
God knows what other foul, half digested lamb chop smells must’ve been on his
breath. She didn’t care. She licked her lips again. Shit, she was playing
with him. Polite, reserved, cool, probably shy, private, Bree Robinson was
playing with him. She put her hand on his cheek and ran her thumb over his bottom
lip.
“Are you going to kiss
me?” he choked out.
“I might.” He grunted as
her other hand speared through his hair. “Do you want me to?”
“You would, girl, if you
were being nice.”
“Oh you don’t think I’m
nice, Ant.” She breathed on him, heat and desire. “Tell me what you really
think?”
Where was this coming
from? This wasn’t Bree who wore conservative suits and tried to stay out of
his way. This was some other girl, reckless and ruthless, who looked like Bree,
but had made it her ambition to twist him in knots and leave him strung out and
dying on the uncomfortable furniture of a trendy drinking spot for want of a
freaking lip lock.
“You’re a tease and a
bitch, and if you don’t follow through with that kiss things could get ugly.”
“Oh yeah. What are you
going to do about it?”
He wasn’t going to trade
quips. He palmed the back of her head and crashed his lips into hers. Shock
made her body
because he screwed up. The best he could ever hope for from a classy chick
like Bree was some hasty tasty drunken favour, never referred to again. So
what the fuck was she asking him to ask her out properly for?
“I told the guys you were
a colleague and it wasn’t right to involve you in this.” He could chew out his
own tongue for every shitty thing he’d said to the boys about Bree. He did not
need to subject her to their scrutiny and he’d do anything to stop it
happening.
“Hang on. You bet if I
won I’d get grovelling and a free feed and now you’re reneging.”
“It’s not like that.”
She shook his hands as if
the answer could be rattled out of them. “What’s it like then?”
It was grubby and
demeaning and he should never have made the bet in the first place. “You don’t
want anything to do with it.”
“And miss seeing you humiliated,
are you kidding?”
He looked down at their
hands. “What’s going on here?”
She laughed, a green,
fresh, musical sound, but when she spoke her voice was hot sweet toffee. “I
don’t know, but I like it.”
“What are we going to do
then?” His body was at war over this question. Only the tiniest part of his
brain was holding out, processing what a bad idea pushing for more than just
being with her like this was. The rest of him was already assessing what her
skin would taste like and what she’d look like with her head thrown back and
her eyes closed when she lost it under him.
“We should probably take
it easy.” He wanted to lick her throat where her sweet voice came from.
“Is that a nice way of telling
me whoa Nelly?”
She wet her lips. “Not
necessarily.”
The remainder of the guts
he hadn’t already spilled in her lap somersaulted. “Whoa Nelly. You mean,
you’d consider...” he ran out of words. Not because there weren’t any left,
but because there were too many that could be used to complete the sentence,
and he couldn’t choose between the professional: ‘developing our relationship’,
the benign, ‘letting me take you out’, or the new truth he suddenly knew was
about to interrupt his romantically carefree life.
He wanted something more
than a one night stand with this girl.
“Do you want to kiss me,
Ant?”
He shook his head. The
lie coming easy because the truth was foreign and dangerous. She freaking
pouted, pushing that juicy bottom lip out. What was he supposed to say? His,
“Fuck, yeah,” came out hollow and achy, like he’d chewed his tongue out.
She moved first. She
leaned that extra bit forward, then stopped. He exhaled in surprise. Beer and
God knows what other foul, half digested lamb chop smells must’ve been on his
breath. She didn’t care. She licked her lips again. Shit, she was playing
with him. Polite, reserved, cool, probably shy, private, Bree Robinson was
playing with him. She put her hand on his cheek and ran her thumb over his bottom
lip.
“Are you going to kiss
me?” he choked out.
“I might.” He grunted as
her other hand speared through his hair. “Do you want me to?”
“You would, girl, if you
were being nice.”
“Oh you don’t think I’m
nice, Ant.” She breathed on him, heat and desire. “Tell me what you really
think?”
Where was this coming
from? This wasn’t Bree who wore conservative suits and tried to stay out of
his way. This was some other girl, reckless and ruthless, who looked like Bree,
but had made it her ambition to twist him in knots and leave him strung out and
dying on the uncomfortable furniture of a trendy drinking spot for want of a
freaking lip lock.
“You’re a tease and a
bitch, and if you don’t follow through with that kiss things could get ugly.”
“Oh yeah. What are you
going to do about it?”
He wasn’t going to trade
quips. He palmed the back of her head and crashed his lips into hers. Shock
made her body
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