Page 14 of Most Likely to Score
His hair is freshly combed, like he took a shower right before he arrived. My breath catches at the thought of Jones in the shower, soaping up that big, sexy body, running his hands across that chest, along his arms, down his legs. I wonder if he touches himself in the shower. Oh God, there’s a five-alarm fire raging in my body now as I picture finding him in his shower as he pleasures himself.
I press my thighs together and think of bunnies and baby chicks.
“It’s tasty,” he says, waggling the fork at me.
I bet he’s tasty.
Then I realize he’s not offering the food to me romantically. He’s toying with me again. This is probably a brand-new game. That thought cools me down a few degrees.
I smile and take the fork, since I don’t like being fed. I eat the grilled potato, and it makes my mouth sing. “Oh my God, that’s amazing.”
“Well, I did pick a great place,” he says, shooting me a grin.
I laugh, feeling better now that we’re back to familiar ground. I know the rules to this game. Theteasing game. The toying game. “Oh, sure. You truly have amazing taste in restaurants, Jones.”
“I’m so glad you approve of my choice,” he says with a wink, knowing full well it was my pick. He raises his beer and offers a toast. “To the person who truly has great taste in where to eat.” His eyes lock on mine, and for the briefest of seconds, there’s no teasing in them. Just that flash of heat I swore I saw at the photo shoot. He holds my gaze for a moment longer than I’d expect. Then another. And it both unnerves me and turns me on to a vastly inappropriate degree. He won’t look away from me. His blue eyes are melting me. My body hums, and my bones vibrate.
Must. Find. Strength. To. Break. Hold.
“That poster is so great,” I say, tapping my glass of iced tea to his as I glance at the picture of a couple tangoing.
He follows my eyes. “Yeah, they look totally hot for each other.”
Okay. That was not the best deflection strategy. I bring the glass to my lips and nearly drink the whole thing down, praying it reduces the red-hot temperature in me.
“That must be some delicious iced tea,” he says drily.
One more chug. One more gulp. Done. I set it down with a smile. “Delish,” I declare.
I don’t drink when I’m out for work. I don’t drink at all with players. People make foolish decisions when they drink. I can only imagine letting my guard downwith him. I can imagine the words that would fall stupidly out of my mouth after a few glasses.
Take me home tonight. Put your hands on me. All over me.
I growl at my inner voice, a reminder to never say those words out loud. Or in my head, either, frankly.
“Are you ready for my proposal?” I ask in my most professional tone, as I brush several strands of my hair away from my face, my fingertips dusting my stainless-steel earrings.
Setting down his glass, he angles closer, studying me. My ears, I think. “Are those . . .?” He points at my earlobe. “Cherries?”
I smile, raising a hand to touch the jewelry as if I need to remind myself. “Yes. They’re my favorite.”
“Favorite fruit?”
“Yes. Name a fruit better than a cherry.”
He laughs. “Well, then. Tell me what you really think.”
“Go ahead. I’m waiting.”
He strokes his chin. Arches a brow. “Peaches are pretty good, Jillian.”
“They’re a close second, I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you. Appreciate that,” he says. “Also, now I want cherries.”
“Told you they’re the best,” I say. Since this dinner seems to be going well and I’d like to keep it that way, I add, “And they’re red, which is a special color in Chinese culture, so cherries have become a modern sign of luck and good fortune. Even though I wasn’treally raised in a Chinese household, I’ve picked up a few little things that I like from the culture.”
“Do you wear the earrings for luck then?”
