Page 34 of The No Try Zone
“Try to throw me off by being all complimentary and shit.”
The quirk turns into a full-blown smile. “Complimentary and shit?”
“You know what I mean,” I snap.
“I don’t,” he responds. “Please, enlighten me.”
“You’re doing it again,” I accuse him.
He huffs a soft laugh. “Whatever it is I’m doing, I swear it’s not on purpose.”
“Don’t talk like that about me around your players,” I growl. “You make it look like I can’t handle things myself.”
“I wasn’t –”
“Youwere,” I interrupt. “Whether it was intentional or not.”
“I’m sorry.” He looks at the bottle before meeting my gaze again. “I won’t do it again, I promise. Now could you please put the cleaning spray down?”
I wave it, delighting in the flinch he makes. “Make me.”
And dammit, his eyes heat up again. “Careful, Nash, or I will.”
I brandish the bottle once more.
He moves so fast that I don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. One moment my fingers are on the trigger of the bottle, and the next, the bottle is falling out of my grip as he hauls my back to his front. His forearm bands across my chest as another hand lands on my hip, searing my skin with the contact.
“What thefuck?” I screech, trying and failing to dislodge his arm.
“Calm down and I’ll let you go.” His mouth is against my ear, his voice dark and rough.
I shiver. “Fuck.You.”
The laugh that issues from him is low and sexy. “I wanted to, believe me.”
A bolt of heat spears through me even as I squirm against him. “Let me go,Matthew.” I spit the name.
He grips me harder, his fingers digging into the flesh around my hip bone. “For as fit as you are, I’d have figured you could break out of this hold.” A pause. “But maybe you don’t want to.”
He’s right, and I hate him for it. I try again, but it’s a farce, and he knows it.
His lips skim the shell of my ear, and I fucking shiveragain.Goddammit.
Another dark laugh as his thumb dips into the band of my leggings and moves back and forth. Back and forth. “Just imagine what I could do to you, Samantha. What Iwantedto do to you.”
Desire courses through me, heat gathering low and tight in my belly as all my senses focus on his thumb and the way it presses against my skin. It would be so easy to give in. To turn into him and let his hands go where they want. WhereIwant. But I can’t. Letting go and giving into this is the last thing I’ll let happen. Inhaling deeply and ignoring that all I smell is him, I stomp on his foot. Hard.
“Ow, fuck!” He releases me with a grunt.
I whirl and punch him in the chest. Or at least, I try to. Even distracted, the arsehole still possesses mad fast reaction skills – damn ruggers – and whips an arm up to block me. I try again, this time with my left, and he stops it.
“Is this your idea of fighting?”
I swing and he blocks. Again and again, and again, and again. “Ugh, Ihateyou!” I snarl.
He grins even as he swats another of my attempted punches away. “Is it any wonder we got married, Sam? Look at us. Chemistry for days.”
“Fuck you,” I huff, trying again for a one-two punch. “I want a divorce.”
