Page 39 of Maneater
Oh, I am so fucked.The realization is even clearer when I feel a warm blush burn over my cheeks.
“He drank it at the bar. I told him I wasn’t a fan, but when he kissed me...” I pause and swallow. “When he kissed me, he asked if I liked the taste of it then. On his lips.”
She lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed, before using the box lid to fan herself.
I grab the card from where she placed it on the coffee table, reading the words scrawled on the heavy cream cardstock. I know instinctively that it wasn’t written by some gift shop attendant or an assistant. Rowan took the time to write it himself.
“Is this him not interested in you?” Rory asks with a laugh.
I smile, unable to fight it.
“He said he couldn’t have dinner with me because he would be fraternizing with a guest. But he was clearly jealous at dinner. And at the bar. And now this.” A beat passes in silence as I try to reconcile this new information with what we already know about him before Rory breaks the silence.
“Is it weird that I’m suddenly finding a bottle of alcohol hot?” Rory asks.
“From him? No.” I sigh, setting the box aside and flopping back on the couch, my mind reeling.
“That’s it. He’s our in,” Rory says a minute into my spiral. My mind is still lost on the way Rowan’s eyes ate up every curve of my body, the way his voice got low—half threat, half promise—and the way my body responded to it in a heartbeat. The heat that flared in his eyes as I surprised him by putting his thumb in my mouth. The way my pulse pounds a bit when he’s around, the way Iwanthim tolikeme.
That last part is the most worrisome.
Men don’t impact me, not that way. I am always in control of whatever lust I feel. I’m the one being lusted after. I’m not the one lustingforsomeone. Not to say that I don’t have my own moments of desire and need: I do, obviously. They’re just onmyterms.
“What?” I ask, still in a haze and trying to rationalize with myself.
“He’s VP of Operations, Josie. He knows everything about everyone. He could be useful to us. He’s our in.He’syour target.” My heart skips a beat with panic.
“I don’t know—” I start, uneasy at the thought.
“Look, either we focus on him, and it is him, and then we solve this problem right off the cuff—” I open my mouth to argue, to tell my friend that we both know it isn’t him, but she smiles and shakes her head, speaking over me. “Oryou can use him for intel,andyou can hook up with him and finally get laid.” My eyes widen with her words.
“Excuse me?—”
“When was the last time you got laid?”
“What does that?—”
“Josephine.”
I scrunch up my nose at my full name. For her benefit, I try to think back, but unfortunately, I’m unable to.
“He made me come, like, three days ago,” I say, avoiding the question obviously. She gives me adon’t be obtusekind of look that she has perfected.
“We both know that’s not enough for you. You need insertion every few months to be happy, and it’s been a while for you.”
“Excuse me?!” I ask, sitting up.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” I glare, but unfortunately, she’s not wrong. I do enjoy sex, and ithasbeen a while. Because she’s not wrong, I change my angle.
“And you don’t?” She instantly shakes her head.
“No. I DIY it on the regular. Men annoy me. You thrive off the blood of men.” I let out a loud laugh and flop back once more on the couch. “But Rowan would be the ultimate catch for you,” she insists.
“You’re out of your mind.” Still, the idea is enticing, and I should probably be a bit more concerned by how my mind doesn’t immediately balk at it.
But why would I? He’s attractive, and he’s an expert on the caseI’m currently working on. Getting close to him is exactly what I would do on any other assignment. I need to remind myself of that.
“But won’t that be an issue? If I’m flirting with everyone and trying to start something with him?”
