Page 176 of Boss of Me

His dark blue eyes are as mesmerizing as ever, pinning me to the spot as he stands before me with his hands tucked in his pockets.

I try to appear cool, aloof. Totally unbothered. “Gunner.”

“Marlowe.” His voice is a quiet rumble I feel in the pit of my stomach. “It’s good to see you.”

I nod mutely, trying to swallow around the huge knot in my throat. I hope he can’t detect how fast my heart is beating or how hard it is to breathe with him standing so damn close.

“I didn’t know Lilith invited you.”

“She didn’t. I invited myself.”

Another shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold. I lift my glass to my lips, staring at him as I sip.

He’s wearing an expensive dark gray overcoat. It hangs open to reveal a killer navy suit that emphasizes his tall, powerful body. He’s let his hair grow well past his collar and over his ears, the night breeze ruffling the thick strands.

God, he looks fucking amazing. Despite the way he stomped on my heart and sent me packing, my insane desire for him hasn’t gone anywhere.

He towers over me, his eyes drinking in my features. His delicious scent, so achingly familiar, teases my nostrils. It’s everything I can do not to breathe him in.

“Why are you here?” I demand unsteadily. “What do you want?”

“You.” He takes a step closer. “I want you.”

My knees knock together and my heart pounds hard enough to crack a rib. I want to throw myself into his arms and hold on forever. But he forfeited that privilege when he unceremoniously dumped me.

So I toss back the rest of my martini and set the glass down on the stone balustrade, then spin on my heel and march off.

He comes after me, following me into the house and pushing through the throng of partygoers. I can hear people trying to talk to him, but he brushes them off.

“Marlowe, wait. Please.” He pursues me across the crowded room, down a flight of stairs and back outside onto the lowerterrace. Before I can run down the steps leading to the lake, he grabs my arm and whirls me around.

I almost slap him, swear to God. But we’re not quite alone and I don’t want to cause even more of a scene than we probably already have.

So I snatch my arm out of his grip and back away, fighting the hot burn of tears.

“I’m sorry.” His gaze locks with mine, his face ravaged with guilt. “I know you’re still hurting?—”

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

He winces.

As a few more people trickle outside, a song drifts through the open doors. “All To You” by Russ. I used to love that song. Now every time I hear it, I’m going to remember this damn moment on this moonswept terrace.

“I know you told me to leave you alone?—”

“Yet here you are.”

He nods. “I wanted to see if you’re ready to?—”

“How’s Gianna?” I jeer, crossing my arms over my chest.

He frowns. “She’s . . . fine, I guess. Why?”

“I saw a picture of you with her. You clearly wasted no time going out?—”

“Once.” He holds up a single finger. “We went outonetime, and only because she insisted on treating me to dinner as repayment for my help. Nothing happened between us.” At my disbelieving look, he calmly reasons, “If we were an item, wouldn’t you have seen more pictures of us by now?”

“Not necessarily,” I shoot back. “The first time I googled you, I didn’t see any pictures of you with Laurene, andshewas your fiancée.”