Page 45 of Connectio

Chapter Eight

“What? No!” I slide out from underneath his arm and back away.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“I think you do.” He smiles and pushes off from the wall.

“Well, you’re wrong.” I lower myself to the edge of my bed and keep my eyes on him as I feel around my feet for my shoes, snagging one in my hand and smiling back at him. “You’re not my type.”

Will blinks, as if my answer is preposterous. “Of course I am.”

“No, you’re not.” I snag the other shoe and slide it on. “For starters, you’re too”—I point to the dried smears of mud on his legs—“dirty.”

He glances down then takes a step closer. “There’s nothing wrong with dirty, sweetheart.”

Shooting to my feet, I back away, again, and point, again. “And you’re rude.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“How am I rude?”

“You…” I inch closer to the door. “You touched my things without permission.”

“I like touching your things.”

Heat pools between my legs, and I curse my traitorous body. It’s not thinking straight. Preparing to dive across my immaculately made bed just to put it between us, I realise being anywhere near a bed is a bad idea, given the look of lust in his heavy eyes. Plus, he seems the type of guy who’d destroy my hospital corners and cushion placement in the heat of the moment… which isn’t a bad thing, I guess.

Oh my God! What am I saying? Of course it’s a bad thing.

“You’re also lewd, and crude,” I blurt out, holding my head high as I march past him and into the hallway.

He follows me. “If I’m lewd and crude, then you’re a prude.”

What? “I am not a prude.” I spin around, my chest bumping into his, my body fizzling at his closeness.

Will slowly drags his knuckle down my arm, and my treacherous eyelids threaten to flutter.

“I think you are,” he murmurs.

The heat from his touch sends chills across my skin, so I blink and swipe his hand away.

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

A smug smile lights his eyes. “Prove it then.”

I want to punch him, but that’ll only prove, once again, that I can’t punch. Argh!

Stretching up on my tippy toes, I yank his head close to mine then hover my lips over his ear before whispering, “I like sex, very much.” I nudge his cheek with the tip of my nose. “But just because I won’t let you fuck me here in my hallway”—I shove him, my voice now harsh—“doesn’t make me a prude.”

Sasha paws my leg, so I lower to my knee to pat her while looking up at him through my lashes. “I respect myself enough not to go out with someone who only wants inside my pants.”