Like a sinner, one corner of his mouth ticks up just before he leans in, his face close to mine, and growls, “Because I lied.” Capitalizing on my surprise, he tows me up into his arms and deposits me on the front desk where anyone can see us from the street. He squeezes me indecently, prompting a ridiculous-sounding gasp from my lips. No, in true, classic Owen Harvey form, he gives my expectations the brash middle finger-an inked one, at that-and slides his palms down to cup my butt. He doesn’t flower me with pretty words of love and desire like some dashing hero out of a romantic comedy. He doesn’t cave and submit, the way I did when he kissed my neck and made me shiver. “Go on,” I say, deliberately taunting him for a reaction, “I’m all ears.”Įxcept that Owen doesn’t respond accordingly.
“Tell me why you continued to tune in, even when you were furious with me for sending you home.” I tiptoe my fingers over the ball of his shoulder. When I reach his biceps, I use his mountain size to leverage my weight against his, rising up onto my toes so that my lips graze his bearded jaw long enough for me to murmur, “Tell me anyway, Harvey.” At his own words being thrown back at him, his gaze sparks with a warning that I blatantly ignore. I glide my palms up, secretly living for every popped vein and corded muscle that I come across. No flannel today-it’s too hot outside-so it’s skin on inked skin. Nodding, I settle my hands on his forearms. Well, well, well, would you look at that-it’s time Owen received a taste of his own medicine. He blinks, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. I lean back against his hands that are still gripping the desk. “You’re smart, Rose,” Owen says now, his hands planted on either side of me, his chin jutted forward in cocky defiance. “My point is, I sent you home and yet you still watched it.” I poke him in the chest, right over his heart. I’m not letting him walk out of this one so easily. “Your point? The whole fucking country is glued to you on the TV.” His Adam’s apple bobs down the length of his throat. When he says nothing, I fill the silence. Lift my eyes until I’m looking into his black gaze and watching the myriad of emotions-trepidation, frustration, vulnerability-fight for dominance. I slip my hand out from under his and spin around in his embrace.
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