I’m a f*cking bastard.
Now I’m a Motocross racer. A winner. A player. A bastard.
When she comes to work for me, I’ll make her remember why she once wanted me too.
One way or another, she will be mine again.
He cocks his head and smiles. “Wow, I did not expect that from you, sis.”
“I’m not your sis, Chris.” I dangle the towel in front of him. “Want this back? Say you won’t call me that again.”
Instead of admitting defeat, he takes another step in my direction, catching me off guard. “Oh, no, you can keep it. I feel perfectly fine like this. With the exception of one thing.” He takes another step, making me lean back as far as I can without giving up my space and showing him that I am actually avoiding coming into contact with him. Who knows what will happen when he touches me. Actually, I do, and it isn’t good. It’s wrong. So wrong …
“You,” he growls, and then he puts his arm around my back and pulls me in.
I can feel his length against my pants, and I hope I didn’t dream it up that I feel it growing. Holy fuck.
“Chris!” I shout.
“What? Afraid?” he muses, leaning in with a smirk to taunt me.
“Get off me.”
“You used to beg me to do the opposite,” he says, biting his lip, which sends a bolt of heat through my veins. Why does he always have to be so vexing?
“You’re just playing me,” I say, unwrapping myself from his arms.
“No, I’m not, but you are.”
“Stop with the semantics.” I throw the towel back at him. “And put this on. I’d rather not get another dick slap.”
He laughs. “Guess that makes me the winner of this little bet.”
“There’s no bet here,” I say. “No game. Just me proving that I’m fine with being your PR rep.”
“Of course, you are …”
“Hey, do you want me to do this or not?” I ask, raising a brow. He wraps the towel around his waist again, which makes it easier for me to breathe. “Hell yeah, I want you.”