Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Even his hand is bossy! And it sends my blood pressure spiking all over again.
“No,” I snap, clutching my purse tighter to my side. “I’m fine to drive. I only had one and a half whiskey sours.”
“And you’re the size of a large rabbit,” he says. “Your blood alcohol level is probably well over the legal limit.”
I stop, turning to glare up at him as I hiss, “I am way bigger than a rabbit. Take that back.”
“I said a large rabbit,” he says.
“Bigger than any rabbit,” I insist. “I’m a full-grown woman, not a woodland creature of any kind. So, take it back.”
He stands up straighter, increasing the difference in our heights until he’s literally towering over me. “I’m not going to argue with a drunk person. I’m going to take you home and ensure you get safely inside without being attacked by a feral turkey. That’s how this evening is going to proceed.”
“Oh, is it?” I ask, allowing sarcasm into my tone for the first time in my entire relationship with this man. “Is that how it’s going to proceed? Must be nice to be so omnipotent that you can tell the future. Tell me, Mr. God-Like All-Knowing Human, what am I going to say next?”
He exhales a weary sigh, as if I’m literally the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.
“I’ll help you out,” I continue, kicking the mockery into full gear. “I’ll even give you a multiple-choice list to make it easier for you. Am I—A. Going to be a good little girl and let you drive me home. B. Kick you in the shins and call for the club security to help me fight off an intruder. Or C. Knee you in the balls and make a run for my SUV while you’re doubled over in pain?”
“You wouldn’t. You’re not a violent person,” he says, but I notice his hand shifts a little closer to his crotch, just in case.
I step in, until there’s only a few inches between us and tip my head back. Holding his gaze, I whisper, “You didn’t think I danced, either. And I assure you, I do. In fact, I’m an excellent dancer.”
And then, I do something truly out of character, and I can’t say why.
Maybe it’s the whiskey.
Maybe it’s the rage.
Maybe it’s the context.
Maybe I’m finally so tired of Barrett looking right through me that I’m willing to step way out of my comfort zone to prove that I’m right and he’s wrong.
All I know for sure is that one second, I’m staring Barrett down in the chilly parking lot. The next, I’m lifting my arms over my head and dancing like nobody’s watching to the music drifting from inside the honky-tonk.
I dance like it’s my last dance, my last chance to prove to this man I adore (in spite of his many faults) that he ought to adore me, too. Or, at the very least, he should open his eyes and see who I really am before he decides I’m unworthy of his time and attention.
I sway my hips and toss my hair. I spin and dip and run my hands seductively down my sides, skimming the velvet of my scandalously short dancing dress.
I didn’t dress to impress or to fit in at the office tonight. I dressed to seduce, hoping I might finally meet a guy who would help me break this hold Barrett has on me, once and for all.
Instead, I’m here with Mr. Oblivious himself, doing my best “Private Dancer” impression.
“Stop,” he grunts after a few seconds, clearly uncomfortable.
“Never,” I shoot back, with a full body swivel that would make my Cardio Pump teacher proud—even though I can never do the push-ups at the end of class. “I’m a maniac on the floor.”
“I’m serious,” he grits out. “Stop.”
“Make me,” I toss over my shoulder as I do something close enough to twerking that I know I’m going to regret it tomorrow.
I don’t know exactly what I expect to happen. I’m not sure I’ve thought that far ahead. I may, in fact, be ever-so-slightly buzzed—though not too impaired to drive—and making a fool of myself.
One thing’s for certain, I don’t expect Barrett to wrap an arm around my waist, haul me against him, and kiss me.
That was absolutely nowhere on my Night Out Bingo card.
Chapter Two
BARRETT
I’ve lost my mind. Clearly.
But she lost hers first. If she hadn’t, I would never have seen her do that bouncing thing she did with her tight little bottom or be experiencing all the completely inappropriate feelings I’m experiencing right now.
I don’t look at Wren’s backside.
Ever.
Wren is my employee, my little sister’s childhood friend, and a sweet, slightly skittish person who’s been on my “Needs Protection” list for as long as I can remember. And not just because she’s not much bigger than she was at twelve.