Page 40 of Gorgeous

“What are you doing?”

I freeze when the heat of Cade’s breath flutters along my neck. I’ve learned he likes to get close and make me uncomfortable. Why? I have no clue but I don’t exactly hate it.

“Hayes threw a marshmallow in my hair.” I hold the clump of matted hair up for him to see. “And it’s stuck.”

He raises his eyebrows, the corner of his lip tipping up in an almost smile. “He threw it at you?”

“No.” I shake my head and put it back under the water. “He just got excited when Tim choked me.”

Cade makes a strangled noise.

“Oh no! He didn’t choke me, choke me,” I rush out to explain as Cade’s face reddens, the lines on his forehead extremely prominent. “I told him to hit on me and …” Cade eyes widen, and I realize for my and Tim’s sake, I need to shut up.

Cade’s fist clenches at his side as he stares at the wad of hair that looks as if it’s been came in, now that I think about it. He doesn’t say anything when I pump the dish detergent on my fingers and attempt to work out some of the sticky marshmallow. He just watches me, his shoulders tense as he eyes me with suspicion.

Finally, he sighs and turns off the water.

“Hey!” I protest, but he ignores me and hands me a dish towel.

“Come on, you will never get it out that way.”

Water is dripping down the front of my shirt, the hand towel no match for my thick mane, when Cade tracks a droplet that darts over the swell of my breast. He swallows, his Adams apple bobbing with the movement.

“You need a comb,” he tells me, his voice strained and raspy.

I move the towel and try to catch the fleeing droplets when he pivots, clearing his throat and ordering me to follow him.

Here’s the thing: I’m an ass girl.

Firm and in the perfect half-moon at the bottom … I want to grab it and squeeze. Hard.

So, when Cade leads the way to his room, that perfect ass of his flexing as he takes each step, I get needy.

Real fucking needy.

I wonder if he would let me grab it just this one time. Like a perk of being employed at the McCallister Jameson Foundation. One squeeze per cheek at the end of the day.

“Breck.”

Lost in rewriting the employee handbook, I tear my gaze away from Cade’s ass and find him grinning at me over his shoulder. “Do you need a minute?”

Oh, he’s got jokes.

“There’s something on the back of your pants,” I say, unaffected by his smile.

He nods, letting out a chuckle. “I get that a lot.”

“Arrogance is a terrible quality,” I reply without a filter.

His smile drops to a frown and I think I’ve hurt his feelings, but then it tips back up before he spits, “So is desperation.”

I’m speechless that he assumes I’m desperate. He disappears into his bedroom without acknowledging my butthurt expression, heading for the en-suite bathroom with a purpose. “Hurry up. I don’t have all night,” is all he calls out.

Did he hurt my feelings just now?

I think he did.

I am not desperate. Just because I appreciate the hours he spends in the gym does not mean I want to ride him like one of those mechanical bulls.

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