expelled a shaky breath but it did little to relieve the pressure inside her. He was deliberately toying with her emotions. But if she hit him with that accusation, he’d deny it. Or would he?
God, what an intolerable situation. Drawing back, she said, in what she hoped was a perfectly normal but standoffish tone, “I have some cold cuts, salad—”
“Thanks but no thanks,” he said abruptly.
She watched as he reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of antacids.
“That’s obviously your diet of choice.”
His lips thinned as he rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture of frustration. “It gets the job done.”
“I hope the job’s worth it,” she said, holding on to her normal tone, though it was hard, especially when she wanted to reach out and touch those grooves in his forehead, soothe them away. Then, realizing where her thoughts had wandered, she shut them down.
“It is.” His tone was definitely clipped.
“Did I hit an exposed nerve?”
He scowled. “So you obviously don’t like pressure. Well, I do. Otherwise, I’d be bored.”
“Good luck.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“On convincing yourself.”
A smile of sorts softened his lips. “You don’t pull any punches, do you? Okay, so things aren’t going so well right now. I’ll admit that.”
“The boss is not happy you’re here.” It was a statement of fact.
Denton’s laugh was humorless. “That’s putting it mildly.”
She didn’t dare ask him when he was leaving. She didn’t want him to go, but she was afraid for him to stay. And why that was so, she dared not ask herself. Having him in front of her, within touching distance but not touching him, was playing havoc with her emotions, a complication she didn’t need or deserve.
“So, is making more money your goal?”
He almost smiled again. “That and making partner in the firm.”
“I guess that makes Mummy and Daddy proud.” She had purposely avoided asking about his parents, whom she partly blamed for their breakup. They had never liked her, never thought she was good enough for their son. However, she couldn’t blame then totally. Denton could have bucked them, but he hadn’t. He’d gone right along with his dad’s wishes. Then his dad had had a stroke, which had further complicated matters.
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” he said, drawing her back to the moment at hand.
“Is that on the horizon? Becoming partner, I mean?” she said, deliberately changing the subject.
“It’d better be. If I nail this client, then I feel I’m a shoo-in.”
“Then I hope it happens.”
He delved into her eyes. “You don’t mean that.”
She flushed, stirring harder. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?” he asked in a innocent tone.
Innocent, hell. He’d never been innocent. “Assuming you can read my mind.”
“What are you making?” he asked, his tone having dropped to a sultry pitch deep in the danger zone.
“Uh, a cake,” she responded, clearly thrown off-kilter by his unexpected change in subject.
He chuckled suddenly, and his eyes heated.
Her system went haywire. “What’s…so funny?”
“You’ve got a glob of batter on your face.”
Before she could respond, a finger reached out and scooped it off. Then, without removing his hot gaze, he deliberately licked his finger, making a sucking noise.
The bottom dropped out of her stomach.
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