Page 8 of Sleeping with the Frenemy

“Oh, that? I lied.”

She sucked in a breath. “Fuck you.”

“We’re getting to that.”

Her blue eyes shot sparks. “In your dreams, Valenti.”

Ah, if she only knew.

I wandered to the table, which was empty except for a cell phone and a stack of unopened envelopes. “You look tense. Why don’t you sit?”

She stayed where she was. “I asked why you’re here.”

“And I told you.” I peered at the envelopes.

“Don’t touch those!” she snapped, coming over.

I hid a smile.

She stopped a few steps away, her body rigid. “I want you to leave.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“You’re trespassing.”

I pulled out a plastic lawn chair and sat. Then I took my time making sure the two halves of my overcoat fell just so. I adjusted my cuffs, tucking my beaded wood bracelet under the fabric. Making sure the two stainless steel beads rested against the inside of my wrist. I sat back and propped one ankle on the opposite knee. When I was done with all of this, I stretched an arm along the chair’s back and met her gaze.

She looked like she wanted to cut my heart out with a spoon.

“I’ll leave,” I said.

“Good.”

“As soon as you tell me you don’t want me.”

“I don’t want you.”

I tilted my head. “Now who’s lying?”

She opened her mouth, but I cut her off.

“You want me.” I dipped my gaze to the juncture of her thighs. “I bet if I ran my hand up that skirt, I’d find you hot and wet.”

Her expression didn’t change, and she didn’t say anything.

But the pulse fluttering in her neck gave her away. So did her hard nipples poking through her shirt.

I put both feet on the floor and leaned forward, my hands clasped between my spread legs. “You were soaked for me last time, remember? Like hot silk on my fingers.”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t remember.”

“Yeah, you do,” I said, and I rubbed my fingertips together slowly. Deliberately.

“You’re an arrogant bastard, Chase.”

“I’ll own up to the first one, but the second is inaccurate. My parents were very much married when I was born.” Although, they didn’t stay that way for long. Fortunately, they divided their assets amicably and went their separate ways without much angst. Even more fortunate, those assets included two sons. Like the gentleman he was, my father gave my mother first pick. She lived in the South of France with my brother and her third husband, and every year I got a beautiful handmade Christmas card signed by her assistant.

Victoria drew herself up. “I don’t care why you’re visiting your stupid hotel. I asked why you’re here.” She jabbed a finger toward the floor.

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