Page 164 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

“Broken Cell Phone Repair Shop,” I say.

Her soft laugh greets me. “It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Many things do. Be more specific.”

“Not knowing what my thing is.”

“Nope.”

“I had a ton of meetings and stuff tonight. Just getting back to messages now.”

That sounds reasonable enough. I lean back, resting my head against the marble. Water splashes.

“Are you in my tub?” she asks.

“No. I’m in mine .”

“Are you naked?”

“No, I’m wearing flannel pajamas.”

“Did you get me hot chocolate?”

Damn. She’s like Babe Ruth calling his shot. I’m fucking impressed. “Depends on whether you deserve it.”

My phone buzzes again. Glancing at the screen, I see it’s the doorman. “One second,” I say, then click over.

“Hello, Mr. Summers. There’s someone here to see you. She says her name is Tiger.”

My grin is too wide to contain. “Send her up.”

Two minutes later, I answer the door, a towel wrapped around my waist, drops of water sliding down my chest, my hair slicked back.

The breath rushes from my lungs as I drink her in. She wears dark jeans so tight they look painted on, black sling-back heels, and a clingy red top. From her finger dangles a black leather jacket. She leans against the doorframe. “I’m here for my hot chocolate,” Henley says.

“How do you know I really bought you some?”

“You wanted to lure me here. You set a hot chocolate trap because you’re dying to know what I’m up to.”

I snort. “Wow. What an elaborate snare I’ve devised.” I open the door wider and indicate with my eyes that she should come in. She does and I close the door. “And this is all because it drives me crazy not to know what you do in the evenings?”

“It drives you batty, right?”

I shake my head as I pad across the floor to the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Scotch? Wine? Soda? Water? Arsenic? Hot chocolate?”

She winks. “Hot chocolate. Hold the arsenic.”

The click of her shoes echoes as she follows me into the kitchen. I grab some milk from the fridge, pour it into a small saucepan, and heat it up, stirring it with a whisk. She eyes my work approvingly.

When the milk is warm, I pour it into a mug, then I snag the gourmet hot chocolate I picked up for her. It’s Godiva. I scoop some into the mug, stir in the mix, and hand her the cup.

She takes a drink.

“Mmm,” she murmurs as she closes her eyes. “Now this,” she says, tapping the ceramic, “this I like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

She sets it down. “You don’t want to know what my thing is?”

“I think you want to tell me,” I say. If she came all the way downtown to taunt me about my jealousy, then I’m going to make her work for it tonight.

“You think I’m involved with someone. You think I see him after work. You think I go somewhere and see a guy.”

I grit my teeth at the images she paints but shake my head in my best denial.

“Do you?” she presses.

I shrug so damn nonchalantly they’re going to photograph and frame this moment and hang it in a museum. Title: Unruffled. “I honestly forgot you even had a thing tonight.”

“Liar,” she whispers with a sly smile.

“Truth teller,” I say, tapping my chest. I leave the kitchen and head to my living room.

“Max!” she calls out, stomping after me. Her fingers brush my right arm and I turn. She grabs my towel instead of the hand that she was presumably going for.

Presumably.

Either way I’m unfazed as the towel falls to the floor.

I can’t say the same for her.

Her eyes pop.

They widen more as they drift down. She nibbles on the corner of her lip. She’s so fucking transparent, and I couldn’t be happier that she likes the view.

“Want me to stay like this? Or is it going to be too distracting for you?”

She huffs, grabs my towel from the floor, and chucks it at me. “Yes, Max. Your gigantic dick is super distracting.”

I catch the towel easily. “Good,” I say, deliberately taking my sweet time hooking it back on, making sure the gigantic dick in question remains in her line of sight.

I park my hands on my hips. “Now, what were we discussing?” I stare at the ceiling as if I’m trying to remember. I snap my fingers. “Right. You came over at nearly midnight to taunt me about whether I’m jealous about what you do after hours. Did I get that right, Tiger?”

She marches back into my kitchen, snags the cup, and parks herself in the doorway to the living room. She downs a big gulp of the hot chocolate as she stares at me. “No. I came over for the hot chocolate, and it’s so much better than coffee.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment. I don’t know if it’s her way of saying I’m hot chocolate now, instead of coffee. As if I’ve moved up on her list of drinks. She’s here, so maybe I am cocoa to her. “Fine. You want me to say it, don’t you?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, standing her ground in the kitchen doorway. “Yes.”

I’m guessing she won’t join me until I give in, so I might as well. “I’m jealous. You win.”

I sink down on the couch, and she struts over, plops down next to me, and runs one fingernail down my bare arm, over my bicep, along my forearm to my wrist. Inside, I shiver. Outside, I reveal nothing.

She brings her face to my neck and licks me. The tip of her tongue traces a path to my ear, and it sets my blood on fire. I breathe out hard, saying her name like a warning. “ Henley.”

She says mine, too, in that sexy purr. “ Max . I take dance classes at the Hudson.”

I smirk. “You do?”

She nods, a shy little smile on her lips. “I do.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe? Is it easier to believe that I’m screwing someone or seeing someone?” she asks, affronted.

“I don’t want you screwing or seeing someone else.”

She scoffs. “You’re insane if you think I’d let you do what you did to me on the car if I were screwing someone else.”

My heart squeezes, and it feels like happiness and relief all at once. I’m so damn glad I was wrong. “I’m either insane or insanely jealous. Tell me about this class.”

I reach for her calves and slide off her black shoes, letting the heels fall to the floor. She tucks her feet under her as she answers. “It’s salsa, and it’s sexy, and I’m terrible at dancing. But I love it. My friend Olivia tried it and told me to give it a shot.”

“I doubt you’re terrible.”

She shakes her head. “I’m the worst student in the class.”

Somehow, this makes me laugh. “There’s no way you’re the worst. And even if you are, it’s awesome that you love it anyway.”

“Taking apart an engine is so easy compared to dancing,” she says as she takes another sip of her hot chocolate then wraps both hands around the mug. It’s so cute the way she clutches it. I want to take a picture of how she holds that cup. It’s yet another side of Henley—the girlie side.

“Why do you say it’s hard for you?”

“You have to get your feet right. You have to remember the steps. You have to move in time to the music. And you have to have a good partner. I had one, but he dropped out.”

“He?”

“Did you think I danced with a woman?”

“I didn’t think about you dancing at all till two minutes ago.”

“And what do you think now that you know?” she asks as she sets the cup on the coffee table.

“That the thought of you dancing salsa with some guy the night after I made you come hard on the hood of a car makes me crazy.”

“A lot of things make you crazy. You should get that head of yours checked out. Maybe you’re going mad.”

“So who’d you dance with tonight, Miss Salsa Girl?”

“The instructor.” She arches an eyebrow. “He’s this tall, gorgeous, Latin-lover type, and he can dance like you’ve never seen.”

I narrow my eyes and breathe fire. “When’s your next class?”

“Friday.”

“At the Hudson?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there.”

“What?”

“I’m going with you,” I tell her as I rope my hand in her hair, tugging it back. She gasps, that sexy, needy sound she makes when I get rough with her. “You’re going with me?” She knits her brow in question.

“You need a partner. I need to not have anyone else’s hands on you while I’m fucking you.”

She shoves her palms against my chest, and I let go of her locks. “What makes you think you’re screwing me?”

“The fact that you like making me jealous. The fact that you’re here at this hour. The fact that I’m wearing nothing but a towel, and I’m rock-hard, and you haven’t left. That’s why.”

“That’s presumptuous.”

I shrug. “This is presumptuous.” I lift my hips, take off the towel, and toss it on the floor.

Her breath hitches. “That’s not fair. I mean, seriously.” She flings her arm in the general direction of my lap. “How did that happen?”

I chuckle. “How did what happen?”

She pushes my chest again, her eyes straying to my crotch.

“How do you get to be six foot three, with these arms, and have a gigantic dick, too? It's ridiculous.” She crosses her arms. “It’s a completely unfair distribution of male assets. It’s like you got the portion reserved for three other guys. It all went to you.”

I smirk. “I was good in a past life?”

She stares at me and shakes her head. “And those eyes,” she says softly as she gazes at me. Then, her voice is even more faint. “Those eyes.”

My skin warms. I press my forehead to hers, slowing down. “I could say the same about your eyes.”

The moment speeds up again. She darts out a hand, surprising me as she wraps it around my dick. I hiss in pleasure. I do like this kind of surprise. A lot.

“I can’t help it,” she says with a shrug. “It’s like a stick shift calling out to me.”

“A joystick.”

She laughs and strokes my hard-on, and then I stop laughing. I sink back into the couch, spreading my arms over the cushions behind me, stretching my right arm around her. I grip her shoulder, drawing her near, as she busies herself with fondling me. I shudder on an upstroke. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“It was so good last night,” she murmurs.

“So fucking good.”