Page 47 of Power Moves
Fun. Typical. That’s all he wants with women. Well, too bad. I am not one of his Tinder girls. I am a woman of substance! I am a woman of ambition! I am a woman of … oh, who am I kidding?
‘What kind of fun?’ I mutter.
His fingers move around to stroke my inner thigh.
‘Archie!’ It’s meant to be a rebuke but it comes out like a tiny moan.
‘The best kind of fun,’ he murmurs, dragging a warm breath across my bare shoulder. ‘In the press room, the elevators … I’m sure the new ABC studios have some dark corners …’
I cannot let my mind wander down such ludicrous paths, especially when his hands and lips are all over me. I’m already losing focus—imagine what would happen if I submitted to this every day. I know I’ve got an addictive personality but I try to channel it in positive ways.
Spin class = good.
Archie = bad.
I can just imagine it now. A major live broadcast is about to kick off and the media director and the state’s most prolific political journo are holed up in a sweaty broom cupboard, missing the action.
Unless …
‘We could have a time limit!’
Archie’s body stills. ‘What do you mean?’
I pull away slightly to defog my brain. My body is still humming at the memory of his lips on my skin. I take a deep breath. ‘Say we keep this New Friends Game going for, um …’ I do some quick calculations in my head. ‘… seven days. A week.’
We’ve already established that the New Friends Game can escalate quickly, but this might be the high-stakes strategy I need to distract Archie, to help Boss win the election.
Archie brings his forehead back to rest against mine so our lips are a hair’s breadth apart. ‘And during that week …’ he trails off. ‘What does that mean?’
My mind pinballs at the possibilities. ‘Physical contact is allowed.’
Archie’s fingers tighten around my waist. ‘Okay.’
‘Kissing is allowed too,’ I offer.
‘Really?’
My face warms ten degrees. ‘Yes, but don’t make me over-think that.’
‘Whatever you say.’
With the slightest flex of his forearm, he tips me towards him and our mouths meet in another messy tangle. I can hardly stand how the heat rushes from his lips to between my legs.
I pull back, attempting some semblance of authority. ‘Th-they’re the rules,’ I stammer.
‘Love them,’ mutters Archie, kissing my neck.
‘For one week only.’
‘So that would be right up until …’ He pauses and straightens. ‘The election debate?’
I nod, and I see the crease form in his forehead.
Dammit.He’s on to me.
But then I see something else. It starts in his eyes, like it always does, then moves to his lips—those surprisingly warm, firm lips—and stretches across his cheeks to light up his entire face. It’s a smile.
‘Okay, Ms Hatton. You’ve got yourself a deal.’
