Page 4 of Beautiful Distraction

“Did you just call me a ‘jerk’ and a ‘prick’?”

Oh, that voice. Deep and hoarse and penetrating, carryingthe slightest hint of amusement. It instantly sends a pleasant chill throughme. I can almost feel it vibrating between my legs. My skin prickles from the expressionhe gives me as he scans my body.

I’m suddenly aware of the fact that I look like a hot mess:my brown hair’s all tangled, and I’m hardly wearing any makeup. I couldn’tstand out more among the Club 69 crowd of long, oiled-up legs and short skirts.Had I known I’d be having a close encounter with Mr. Sex On Legs, I might haveeven made an effort.

“Yes, I did,” I spit out. “Because it’s your fault.”

“My fault?” He turns his head to me, his gorgeous face drawnin surprise. “Yougave me the signalto go ahead.”

“I did what?” Frowning, I let out a sarcastic laugh. “No,you gavemethe signal to go ahead.”

He shakes his head. “I most certainly didn’t.”

Is he suffering from some neurodegenerative disease?

I stare at him, open-mouthed, then mimic his wave. “This isthe go-ahead sign to move.”

“No, it means you drive like an eighty-year-old, and I don’thave all day to watch you amble around.” His eyes meet mine, his gazechallenging.

His features are relaxed; his mouth is slightly open as hestares me down in amusement. I don’t know why, but I get the distinct feelinghe’s enjoying the situation.

Well, I’m not amused.

“I wasn’t ambling. I was waiting to get in line and you triedto overtake me,” I state the obvious.

“You stopped,” Hot Guy points out. “That means you gave methe all-clear.”

My mouth opens and closes, which probably looks like I’m apanting fish out of water. At last, I shake my head in disbelief. “Are you forreal? I stopped to check if a car was coming.”

“So you say.” His lips twitch. “Let’s face it. You weredistracted by that phone glued to your ear, chatting as if I had all the timein the world.” He steps forward. “Has no one ever told you that talking on aphone while driving can cost lives?”

I want to remark that I wasn’t driving while I was on thephone, but I refrain from it, because he’s right. “This is hardly a highway.”

“It’s still called dangerous driving,” the guy says.

For a few seconds, all I can do is stare at him. My pulsequickens and my breathing sounds just a little louder than it should. Knotsbegin to form in my abdomen as I stare at his perfect teeth and his perfectlips.

God dammit.

He screams sex on legs.

The kind of guy you take home to let him fuck your brainsout, and then you discard the next day because there’s no way in hell a guylike him settles for anything less than a harem.

He also screams incurable, arrogant bastard.

Everything he’s said so far tells me he’s a big-ass jerk.

I don’t know why the thought that his dick’s probably hadmore mileage than a porn star’s pops into my head. But it does, and it remindsme that I’m very angry.

Fuming mad.

He hit my car…I remember. I can’t afford any repairs. On topof that, I shouldn’t be thinking about sex, especially not with Mr. Arrogant who’smore concerned with his stupid car than with the damage he’s caused to mine.

“It’s just a scratch,” I point out. “Nothing a good paintjob won’t solve.”

“Look.” He sighs. His hot, sexy breath hits my face as heturns to me. “I get it. You don’t have the money to pay for the damage. Youprobably don’t even have insurance, and I wouldn’t wait for a check anyway, butdamn, I just had it flown in from Italy. Don’t you have eyes, woman?”

I gape at his audacity.

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