Page 11 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

JASON

I had to be the world’s stupidest man. Letting her into this house had been my first error. But my second? It was foolishly baiting her, which made me want her. Which was why I was currently hiding outside, so I had no chance of running into her after her shower.

I was huddled on the porch in all the warm clothes I’d packed and under a lap blanket from the couch, staring out at the endless landscape.

I’d forgotten how grim the desolate fields could be under a flat, gray sky.

I grimaced and sipped my coffee. This place reminded me too much of Tennessee.

I’d been with three foster families during my time there, after my mom had been deemed unfit to care for me, too in love with the rush she got from heroin and later, dirtier street drugs, to take care of a baby.

The first two families had been tolerable in comparison to the last. I shuddered slightly.

Don’t think about it. I was theoretically beyond that now, on my way to being richer than sin and independent.

Which was why it was incredibly stupid to keep flirting with Cynthia.

But damn, those lips, those curves. She was like a lightning rod, pulling me in to her every time we were in the same space.

Besides, I could see I was getting to her.

She was not a woman who blushed, and she could barely keep her composure in my presence.

That had to count for something. Keep her on her back foot and I could win this deal.

She was a fierce negotiator. While I stonewalled, she coaxed.

She’d twisted my words before, gotten points out of me that I hadn’t wanted to give.

Why was that so hot? With her, going toe-to-toe had always felt electric.

“Jason!” she shouted from the kitchen. “Did you hide the coffee?”

Speak of the devil. I smirked into my cup.

She burst onto the porch not a minute later. Her fiery hair was damp and her face softer, fresh from her shower. Or it would have been if it weren’t pinched in displeasure.

“What coffee?” I asked, mildly, trying to keep from laughing.

“That. Coffee. I could smell it in the kitchen.” She pointed at my mug. I sipped again just to watch her jaw clench. “So the bag they stocked for us mysteriously disappeared?”

“Must have been elves.”

“Elves.” Her jaw was so tight it looked painful. “It would literally kill you to share with me, wouldn’t it?”

“I play to win, counselor.” And I did. This was my house, my deal, and she wasn’t going to throw me off with full lips and perfect curves.

Her eyes lit. “Game on.”

An hour later, I searched for my keys so I could stock up on groceries for the week.

I’d left them on the counter, but they were nowhere to be found.

Cynthia strolled into the kitchen as I tossed papers aside and searched through drawers.

She was dressed in a soft sweater and leggings, with huge platform boots.

Soft, sexy, distracting. My eyes tracked her helplessly as she made for the door.

“See you later.”

“Where are you going?” I narrowed my eyes at her retreating back, refusing to look at the swing of those round hips as she opened the door.

“Around. Maybe to the store. I’m going to get some coffee. Since we have an elf infestation.”

“Great. I’ll join you. Since the elves seem to have taken my keys as well.” It had been her. Sparks kindled low in my stomach. She wanted to play. And I fucking loved games.

She frowned. Ha. Not the consequence you wanted, is it?

I shrugged on a jacket and brushed by her on the way out the door. I tried for nonchalance, but she tensed as I passed and I sidestepped awkwardly around her. Too close. The space between us felt thick.

It was the same in her tiny, economy-size rental car. Too close, too close.

“Are you going to tell the firm you want a different rental house?” she asked as she drove.

“Nope. You?” I knew for a fact that there weren’t any other rentals available, due to the huge ranching festival in town this week. But I’d let her think I was baiting her.

“I just thought you might want some personal space,” she replied evenly. Nice try. She’d done this to me before. The sideways route. Cajoling instead of forcing. She excelled at it.

“Oh, I don’t need personal space,” I responded with a smile. I very much do. Even being in this car was torment. Her warm scent wrapped around me. Her even breaths filled the space.

“Those walls are really fucking thin,” she grumbled. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Did I distract you last night?” She had distracted me. Every creak of her mattress had kept me wondering why she was awake. And when I’d woken hard and wanting, I’d refused to let off steam for fear she would hear me.

Her cheeks pinked. “A little. I mean, I live in an apartment so I’m used to ah, sounds. But it’s been a long time since I had a roommate.”

“I’ve never had one. Not since college.”

She made a sound of surprise. “Even as a lowly law student? It’s a rite of passage in New York.”

“I don’t do well without control over my space,” I said tightly. “I grew up without much of any. It’s precious to me now.” The understatement of the year. A childhood full of chaotic, broken homes meant I craved order and comfort, like I needed air and water .

“You must have lived pretty far out, then. Unless you were rich? You don’t seem like a trust fund kid.”

I barked a laugh. “That couldn’t be further from the truth. I lived ninety minutes from school in a tiny studio apartment.”

“Damn, all that just to avoid roommates?”

“Yep. It was pretty brutal, actually. I studied a lot on the train, in between jobs, or after work.” I’d fallen into bed every night. I couldn’t remember a day I hadn’t been exhausted and wary.

“Wow. So living with me must be torture for you,” she teased. “I would describe my living style as colorful.”

I groaned, and she grinned. It would be torture, but not for the reasons she thought. Torture was knowing she was naked just inches away. Those tiny pajamas she’d worn this morning had concealed very little. “Are you one of those people who saves every single piece of packaging to reuse later?”

She burst out laughing. “No, but my parents are. They could be generously described as borderline hoarders.”

“Luckily for me, it sounds like you haven’t inherited their tendencies,” I said hopefully.

She shook those fiery curls as she turned into the grocery store parking lot. “You’re in luck. But I do take after my parents in one way—I don’t know how to cook.” She eased out of the car, and I looked away before I ogled her ass in those leggings.

“So, what were you planning to buy?”

“I don’t know. Lunchables or something?” She looked totally serious.

I grinned. “Yeah, that would be professional. Lunchables at the office.”

“I was at least going to get some coffee and fruit.”

I looked over at her, so much smaller than I was, so soft in her street clothes, when she normally seemed larger than life. You could help her. I shook my head. Provide for her? That’s insane.

We wended our way through the aisles, and Cynthia tossed random things into her cart without looking at the prices. I trailed behind, selecting actually useful items, like fruits and vegetables, oatmeal, protein bars.

“Protein bars, really?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I work out a lot,” I said. Compulsively, one might say. Alana had described me as obsessed , and not in a good way.

“I, ah, should have remembered,” she replied, and cleared her throat. Your body is insane , she’d said last night. My groin tightened.

“Uh, right,” I replied eloquently, and followed those swinging hips into the next aisle. “If it were up to you, it seems we’d be eating pretzels and string cheese.”

“What’s wrong with that?” She rounded on me.

“I don’t know, vegetables?”

“Ugh, Jason. You’re boring. Protein bars and vegetables. Live a little.” She rolled her eyes.

“Let me guess, you live off gin martinis and snacks.” I crossed my arms and her eyes flicked to them and back up.

“Don’t forget the free dinner we get at the firm,” she said tartly.

“So pizza, liquor, and snacks,” I summed up.

Frustration was apparent on her face, and I smothered a laugh. Needling her made my day. And it was certainly more comfortable than being reminded of how much I still wanted her.

“So, roomie. Are we making decisions together for the house? Is that what this is? I buy the milk, you buy the kale and protein bars?” She looked annoyed.

“If you want to,” I said evenly.

“You’re going to have to lighten up a little if this is going to work.

” She raised a brow expectantly, like she thought I couldn’t lighten up.

“And I don’t mean showering at nine a.m., instead of seven.

I mean, I like to eat ice cream on the couch, drink too much wine, and change into my pajamas as soon as I get home.

My cleaning style could best be described as laissez-faire . In fact, I have no domestic skills.”

“Is that it?” I asked mildly. She tipped her chin up defiantly, and I crowded her back against the shelves.

I couldn’t help it. The fire under my skin could only be assuaged by her presence.

Her eyes went wide, and I drank in her shock.

“You think you’re going to chase me out of this house, don’t you?

” I asked quietly. “You think you’ll be so wild that I’ll give up and run back to New York?

You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Her expression said that was exactly her plan.

I placed a hand against the shelf next to her, the heat of her body licking against my skin.

“You forgot just one thing.” The words were low, rough, for her ears alone.

“I have the upper hand. Because I know you still want me. And I’m not afraid to use that against you. ”

“I don’t want you.” Her tone was defiant.

Frustration rose. She was a nut I couldn’t crack. The one opposing counsel who’d ever given as good as I had. Heat burned low in my belly, a potent cocktail of competition and need. It made me stupid, drove me to do anything to win.

“Oh, you don’t?” I cocked my head. “So if I were to walk around shirtless, that would be fine?”

“Annoying, but it wouldn’t tempt me,” she said.

“We’ll see about that.” Game on.