Page 32 of At the Edge with You

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who gave me a picture of your nipples in 3-D! I think you did it on purpose.”

“On purpose!” she complains, her eyes wide and full of irritation. “What would be my endgame in giving you a photo of my boobs?”

“To distract me and take the building,” I say simply, feeling pretty damn good about myself for coming up with that on the fly.

Maybe I can get her mad enough that I can steal that paper back.

She scoffs. “Well, you’re playing right into it, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” I say without any shame. “I am very disappointed in myself.”

Fable laughs to herself and shakes her head. “That’s not my endgame, Jett. I want to work together and not talk about my boobs.”

All I hear is boobs. Yes, I’m disgusting. No, I don’t care. “It’s one little question.”

“Do you know how unprofessional you’re being right now?”

“Is this a professional meeting? I’m not dressed right, if so,” I say since I’m wearing jeans and a tee. “But if you want to change into that little number you’ve got, sans jacket, I’ll wait.”

I swear I see lust in those green depths. “Disgusting.”

But she doesn’t seem to be that disgusted by me. If anything, by the tint of her cheeks and the playfulness in her eyes, I’d say she appreciates that I want to know about them. Unable to resist, I say, “I think you’re enjoying my curiosity.”

She blinks. “I most certainly am not.”

“I think you want me to just ask.”

“I don’t,” she insists, but once more, her cheeks fill with color, and is she pushing her shoulders back?

What a naughty ice princess.

I cover my mouth as I drink her in, wanting desperately to gather her hair and pull her head back to reveal her throat. I’d suck and lick my way down, pull her shirt completely off her shoulder before yanking up that bra to find out the answer to my question. Would she let me?

Maybe that’s the question I should ask.

Going for a bargain, I ask, “You can ask me one.”

“I don’t want to know anything!” she yells, flustered, her hands flying in the air. I don’t miss the way her leg is bouncing or how she is squirming in her seat. She’s getting overwhelmed, and I wonder if she still freaks out when she gets to that point. Her parents always tried to make her hold it all in, but I loved how she blew up. She was herself.

“Lies. Surely there is something you want to know.” I can hear the deep teasing to my voice.

I grin when I realize what I’m doing.

I’m flirting with the ice princess.

She doesn’t answer right away, her green eyes holding mine hostage, and I swear I can see the wheels grinding in her brain. Her little chin tips up, looking so damn pretty I want to gobble her up. I’m on the edge of my seat, praying she says yes. Instead, she glares. “Stop messing with me and flustering me. No matter what, I am here to get this job done, and you aren’t going to chase me away.”

I grin. “You think that’s my endgame?”

“I don’t care one way or another. Cut it out. I’m not going anywhere.”

I know she means the words she says, and they surprise me. I know she doesn’t want to be here, but I’m realizing she truly does want to help me. I know that I should back off, that I’m not being professional, but I can’t help my need to get under her skin. I thread my fingers before lifting my hands behind myhead and leaning back, my gaze never wavering. “If that was my endgame, you’re playing right into it. All flustered and pink.”

“Jett,” she warns, and I love that her neck is now red. “We are here for a meeting.”

“Shouldn’t we get to know each other?” I suggest, but she doesn’t agree in the least.

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