Barbie
“This is exactly why we can’t go with that cover sheet,” he gripes, punctuating his words with a long-suffering sigh. If I weren’t too busy glaring daggers at him, I’d be looking up the penalties for voluntary manslaughter.
I turn to peer out the window, just so I don’t have to discover if the death penalty is one of them when I murder him with my bare hands.
We’ve already spent the rest of our flights rehashing the same arguments from work.
I need a minute to step back, gather my wits, and freak out an appropriate amount over the fact that the hot guy on the plane is not a conspiracy theorist, he’s worse. He’s Carter.
The guy who’s spent two years arguing with me over spreadsheets and SOPs as if his life depended on it is the very same person whose future three kids’ names have already been picked out by yours truly.
Of course, the first guy I’ve felt a spark of attraction toward in a long while is the same man who infuriates me to no end. Although people have said evil is attractive. And boy howdy, is he.
I swallow hard, wishing that my feelings for him would sort themselves out and stop thinking of him as anything other than the enemy. He literally accused me of being a freaking bot.
I spent days agonizing over how I was going to be nice to a guy who thinks I’m composed of mechanical parts and run on batteries.
Heaving out a muted sigh, I’m beyond relieved when the cab pulls over to the curb and comes to a stop in front of the hotel. I want nothing more than to check into our suite and make my great escape for the night after spending half of a day with him already.
Like every building and landmark we’ve driven past, the area is extremely crowded.
Pedestrians meander along the cobblestone sidewalk. Families abruptly halt to snap pictures. Tourists trickle in and out of the lobby while they head toward the historic downtown and boardwalk area.
I don’t have the chance to reach for my wallet when Carter hands the driver a couple of twenties and hops out of the vehicle.
Inside the lobby, the place is jam-packed with people. Way too many people that it’s kind of overwhelming. My brows pinch together; my skin prickles. I can feel the air whooshing from my lungs while my legs seem to have forgotten how to move.
“Is this the face you make every time you’re on a call with me?” he utters in a complete deadpan, and I almost break into laughter. Almost.
“Stop it,” I say, redirecting my attention to the reception desk. There’s a long line of people. “You cannot be funny right now.”
He quietly chuckles. It’s a dry sound, but it sends a cascade of goosebumps down my spine, nevertheless. “I can’t help it. It just comes naturally.”
“So you are a circus clown,” I mutter.
“Hey,” he grunts. The tension in the air doubles. My shoulders go tight as I stare ahead, unable to meet his gaze. Clearly, my plan to be nice to my coworker is off to a great start. “I’m a circus clown you were all over.”
Indignation works through me while my cheeks blaze with heat. “Excuse you? I was not all over you.”
“You were all over me,” he says, then adopts a piss-poor rendition of what has to be his take on my giggling. Twisting on my feet, my eyes narrow into slits, only to freeze up when I see the flicker of worry etched in his face.
“No, I was simply trying to get to know you,” I mimic. “You’d know if I was actually all over you.”
A little smug smile tugs at the corner of his lips and causes my pulse to scramble again for a completely different reason. Then his expression shifts. “You okay?”
Wow, the ficus plant sure is something to look at. It’s so leafy.
“Of course.” I hitch a shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You have this look on your face.” Genuine surprise racks me, even more so when his gaze seems to bore straight through my forehead. “Like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I swallow hard and return my attention to the plant, then to the display case promoting tourism packages for families, couples, and honeymooners before I sigh.
If he doesn’t find out tonight, he’ll most likely find out tomorrow morning at the conference.
“I don’t do well with crowds. Well, too many people in one room. ”
“Really? You’re claustrophobic?”
I shake my head and try to wave him off when his concern visibly doubles, but my anxiety spikes when I hear a round of obnoxiously loud laughter behind us.
My breathing shallows. My pulse rings in my ears.
“Come on.” His hand’s already wrapped around my elbow, and just as I’m about to expect him to manhandle me and drag me toward the receptionist, he steers me in a different direction.
I’m not sure where we’re going until we come to a stop near a bike locker.
Where it’s extremely quiet. “I’ll check us in. The suite’s under—”
“B&E Dream Team,” I mutter, met with an exasperated sigh from him.
“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” When he still hasn’t moved, I peek up from the marble floor and lock eyes with him. The level of concern written across his face is overwhelming.
Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I’m not sure what to say. Thank you, obviously. But Carter being much nicer in person than I’d expected is proving to be a harder concept for me to grasp. Like the theory of relativity or the fact that blind people don’t see black, they just see nothingness.
He gazes at me for a long, long moment before he finally lets go of my arm and makes his way to the front desk. I let out a weary groan and rub my palms against my thighs, praying that it’s all smooth sailing from here.
He won’t stop looking at me. It’s just us two in the elevator the moment a family scrambles out onto the third floor.
“I’m not claustrophobic.”
“It’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not.” The expression plastered across his face tells me he doesn’t believe me. “You can quit it with your nice guy act.”
“It’s not an act,” he replies. “I promise you, I’ve been nothing but genuine with you all day.”
“Even when you were all over me?” I ask, before I can help myself. The elevator goes so quiet that you can hear a pin drop.
“Me? You were the one who was all over me, Barb,” he says, using that rough and low voice from the plane, and a half-smile forms on his lips when I suck in a breath. “You wouldn’t stop touching me.”
“I was just checking for a pulse,” I say. “That’s all.”
“This is how you check for a pulse?” His hand gently pats my bicep, and I sidestep away from him. “What was my heart rate?”
“Nonexistent,” I reply without missing a beat. “Like the devil you are.”
“The devil you wouldn’t stop feeling up—”
“I was not feeling you up at all,” I hiss, glaring up into his dark eyes. “I was—” My words catch on my tongue when those ridiculously cute dimples of his return. I’m beyond flustered, and he knows it, too.
If I want to survive the next five days with him, I shouldn’t be nice to him like I had originally planned. I should make him so flustered it hurts. Turn the tables on him. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Have him more bricked up than a chimney.
“You’re right,” I coo in the most obnoxiously breathy voice I can muster. Before I can try to seductively bite my lip or bat my eyelashes, my dumbass tacks on, “I’m sure it’s the first time you’ve ever heard those words.”
God, I’m so rusty with flirting. And interacting with other human beings in person, apparently.
“From you, maybe,” he says. “The first of many, I’m assuming.”
“You’re so right,” I say, my words so whispery and husky that my throat starts to hurt, and he immediately frowns.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just agreeing with you.” I bite my tongue before I blurt out: another first. Fluttering my eyelashes, I place my hand squarely on his chest. “I was feeling you up.”
“I know. I was there,” he says dryly, and my lips twitch as I fight my laughter. “That doesn’t explain the weird-ass voice.”
“I can’t help it.” With a seductive smile, I’m mentally scrambling to come up with an excuse. “I just… admire… your form… so much.” Wow.
“Can you admire my form without sounding like a dying cat?” he deadpans. “If you’re going to try to mess with me, at least use your morning voice. The one where you can hear the venom behind all that sweetness.”
My head jerks back as I stare up into his eyes, and I drop the ridiculous baby voice. “I’m not messing with you. I’m trying to flirt with you.”
“Really?” His brow quirks. “Emphasis on trying, I guess.”
It takes every ounce of my willpower not to glare at him. “You’re right,” I say finally. “I don’t have to try so hard. Not when you wanted me so badly.”
He slants his head toward me, and my smile sweetens. “Yeah, I wanted some hand-on-hand action with you so badly.” The sarcasm in his voice is heavily outmatched by the ever-so-dry expression on his face.
“What’s stopping you?” I whisper with just a hint of breathiness this time. “Make your year, Carter, and hold my hand.”
“In my intro to psych class, this is what we called projecting,” he says, then leans in so close that I can feel the heat of his body seeping through his cotton shirt. “If you wanted me to give you what you’re desperately craving for? You can always ask.”
“You think this is what I’m desperately craving for?” My voice is as flat as Vincent’s souffle. “Maybe I want more than what you’re offering.”
“Yeah?” There he goes again with that rough voice. “You want me to put my arms around you? Is that it?”
“In public?” I gasp. “I never realized you had such a voyeuristic streak to you. What if somebody walks in and sees us?”
“My bad,” he says, then lifts his hand to show off the key tag wedged between his fingers. “Let’s wait until we’re inside our suite to pick up where we left off.”
“Yup.” My gaze smolders for emphasis. “Can’t wait to get off—”
“Yeah? You want to get off so badly?” he cuts in before I can finish my sentence. Dammit.
“—this elevator,” I continue. My cheeks are blazing hot. As are my shoulders. My entire body, really. It’s as if I’ve been dipped in a vat of molten lava and I can feel it everywhere.