Page 37 of Maneater
I roll my eyes like it’s a silly question. “Whywouldn’tI look for secrets? I’m a girl. I love to find out secrets.” I lean in, my voice going low and conspiratorial. “Doyouhave any juicy secrets to share with me, Rowan?”
He shifts to stand beside me, and I resist the urge to look directly at the pool house, having to rely on my peripheral vision to keeptrack. Rowan notices everything, and I can’t raise suspicions right now.
“I don’t share my secrets with anyone,” he says low, a challenge if I’ve ever heard one. I lean in a bit, turning my body on my stool toward his, my head tipped up to look at him as he glares down at me.
Without my mind’s approval, my body heats. There’s something about the way he’s looking down at me, the way I’m looking up, the way he’s standing while I sit…it sends my mind into inappropriate places it cannotbe in, not while Rory is on a mission. Like he can read my mind, he sits on the stool, but it doesn’t help with my dirty mind, not when he spreads his legs, putting his feet on the foot rail, the material of his slacks stretching on his thick thighs.
“I bet I could convince you to spill a few,” I whisper, my words almost throaty. His throat bobs with the promise, and for a moment, I see it: a look of desire.
“Go back to work,” Rowan says to the bartender, low and gravelly, and not even averting his eyes from mine as he does. He’s so close I can feel his breath coasting along my skin, and I have to fight the full shiver that runs through me at it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, also holding Rowan’s gaze. He mumbles something, but I don’t dare move as my heartbeat thrums with anticipation.
“Isn’t he a little young for you?” Rowan asks.
I raise my eyebrow and tip my head. “Excuse me?”
“That kid. A little young. And definitely not in the income bracket you normally go for.”
“You really do seem to pay quite a lot of attention to me and the people I spend time with, don’t you?”
His tongue runs over his teeth, and his eyes flare with irritation.
“Does it drive you crazy?” I ask, reaching over and touching the collar of his shirt, pretending to lay it flat. “That it’s never you?”
My voice is low and sexy even to my own ears, and for the first time, I see it happen in real-time: my impact on him. Some guard he normally keepsslammed down is up for a moment, and I can see everything.
I’ve burrowed so far under his skin, and he absolutely hates it.
“Not in the least.”
“Keep telling yourself that, but we both know you’re into me, Rowan, and you don’t know what to do about it.” His jaw tightens, and I read every tiny shift of his body language that confirms my words. “It’s probably better you try and keep your distance, though.” I lean back into my stool, a playful, teasing smile on my lips. “You couldn’t handle a girl like me,” I say low, and even though I still have my mask on, keeping mysultry spyfacade in place, it suddenly doesn’t feel like a mask. It feels like me, a playful, sexy woman flirting with a man, except there’s no hidden agenda for once.
I just want to watch him squirm and feel the thrill of the back and forth with him. That thrill tightens when a wolfish smile crosses his lips.
“Oh, I could handle you just fine, Josie.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask with a laugh.
“It’s a promise.”
My body comes alive with his words, with the images they evoke, with the memories of a dimly lit office and the sensation of his hands on me.
Just then, my phone pings with the sound that can only be Rory, forcing me to break eye contact and check it.
Rory: Hey. girly! We need to reapply sunscreen!
It’s code, just in case someone else gets a glimpse of my screen, but I know it means her task is done. I’m to meet her back at the pool so we can casually pack up and then head to the room to confirm the transmission is successful. Still, I don’t rush off, instead staying a few more moments, basking in the heady pull of Rowan’s gravity. I take a long sip of my drink, savoring the sweetness and the light burn of the rum before setting it down.
He stares at me for another moment before, as if against his own free will, he says, “You’ve got something…”
He reaches up and brushes a thumb along my upper lip, sendingchills through my body, chills that pool between my legs. “…right there.” When he pulls back, there’s a small smudge of whipped cream on the tip of his thumb.
I hesitate for the barest of moments before decidingfuck it. I reach up, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. Holding eye contact with him, I pull his hand toward me.
Then I put that thumb into my mouth and swipe my tongue over the sweet cream with much more diligence than is required. Fuck, evenIam turned on by the show I’m putting on for him.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s all a show, all some master plan to win him over, to win this game that we’ve got going on. To get what I need from him, ever the man-eater. When I release his wrist, his hand drops into his lap like he’s been burned, though his eyes are molten on me. Slowly, because my legs feel like jelly, I grab my drink and stand.
