Page 6 of Tangled Desires

“Fancy seeing you here, sugar.”

Goosebumps trail up my arms at that gravelly voice, cutting through the chatter. Of course, it had to be Harrison. Perfect timing. Leaning against the wall, Harrison’s all smirks and swagger—jeans slung low, t-shirt clinging to his annoyingly ripped frame, tattoos on display like a walking advert for bad decisions. Dusty work boots say he’s come straight from the job, but that cocky grin? That’s just Harrison in his natural state.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the man of my dreams.”

“Dreams, huh? Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Please, Harrison,” I snap, arms folding tight. “The only dream I’ve got involves you not bothering me.”

“You wound me, Immy,” he says, clutching at his chest. “Guess that makes you the only one who can fix it, doesn’t it?”

A snort escapes before I can stop it. “Don’t flatter yourself. That’s nothing.” That laugh of his—deep, unbothered—rumbles out as he steps closer, towering now.

“You always do have a way with your words.”

“And you’ve always been a pain in my ass,” I shoot back, refusing to budge as he narrows the gap.

“Oh, I could be.”

“Could be what?”

“Buried in your ass,” he says smoothly. “I’m game if you are.”

Yeah, well, I walked right into that one, didn’t I? Should’ve known better—Harrison never misses an opportunity to turn a conversation into something dirty. His wink seals the deal, cocky and infuriating, and the scoff rips out of me, loud and deliberate. But what really gets under my skin, what really pisses me off, is the heat curling low in my belly like it has any business being there. My thighs clamp tight, a desperate attempt to crush the traitorous spark.

“You know, I’ve imagined that fiery mouth of yours doing all kinds of things.” A scoff escapes me. “Wanna know what I’ve imagined?”

“Absolutely not,” I snap, stepping back toward the stool behind me, trying to put some distance between us. It doesn’t work—he steps closer, closing it right back up.

“Your pretty little mouth,” he murmurs. “Wrapped around my cock.”

Ugh. My hand shoves against his chest instinctively. “Does that kind of gutter talk actually work on women?”

“It works on some,” he says with a shrug. “And something tells me you don’t hate it as much as you’d like me to believe.” My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip, hesitation crackling like static in the air. The urge to slap that arrogant grin off his face clashes violently with the deep, insistent ache pulsing low in my belly—a maddening betrayal of just how much his filthy words are getting to me. And the worst part? He knows it.

“But you’re not like most women.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Most women would be intrigued. Turned on by a few choice words. Eager for me to fuck them. You know, cut through the bullshit and get straight to the point.” He’s close now, too close, and I feel the weight of his words sink in as his lips curl up in a knowing grin. “But not you.”

“Yes, well clearly, I’m not like most women.”

“No, you’re most certainly not.”

“Great,” I snap back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Now that we’ve established that, can you piss off?”

“Nuh uh,” he tsks. “I only just got here.”

“And what exactly is your reason for being here?”

“Looking for you,” his grin widens. “Where’s the tool?”

“Buying me a drink,” I shoot back, raising an eyebrow. “None of your business, really.”

“And yet you told me, anyway.” He leans in a little, eyes flicking over me. “I’m just making sure you’re being looked after.”

“Don’t play the concerned friend, Harrison. We both know that’s not your style.”