After All(17)

I glare at him. "I assure you I have no soft spots."

His mouth quirks up, his eyes dancing with a heat that's hard to ignore. "I can see plenty of soft spots right now."

My eyes narrow even more. "I realize you're talking about my breasts now."

"Breasts, ass, thighs," he says casually. "All places I'd like to sink my teeth into."

Oh my god.

Did he really just say that?

"What's wrong with you?" I ask him, feeling flushed all over.

But he doesn't look ashamed at all. Just flashes me that panty-dropping smile again. Luckily, I didn't wear panties today, so it doesn't work on me.

"Oh, blondie, there is plenty wrong with me," he says, taking the drinks from the bartender as he passes them over. He hands me mine which I reluctantly take while he shoves a fifty-dollar bill into the tip jar. "There's a reason they warned me to stay away from you, remember?"

"Right. The corruptible part. I'm starting to think they were right."

Then he grabs my hand again and leads me to the corner of the room where the wedding presents are piled. "And I'm starting to think that you aren't easily corrupted."

"Does being this sleazy usually work for you?" I ask.

He looks at me in surprise and for a moment he almost looks hurt. Then it fades into a cunning smile again. "Yes. It does."

"The perks of being a famous actor," I tell him just as he takes out his phone and glances at it, frowning. "Popular, too," I nod at his phone. "Is it your girlfriend of the week?"

He gives me a loaded stare. "My publicist," he says after a moment. "Who, no, isn't my girlfriend."

"What does she want?" I shouldn't pry but I'm so curious.

He sighs, putting his phone away and having a large swallow of his drink. I can't help but stare at his tanned throat as he does so. "You don't follow any gossip sites?"

"Sometimes. I like Perez now that he's not so bitchy anymore."

Emmett nods. "I got into trouble last night."

"Oh really." I swear he looks ashamed for a moment. "And what did you do this time?"

"Some fuckhead was filming me on his Instagram, harassing me, goading me to do something crazy."

"And did you?" For all that I've heard about Emmett recently, crazy could be a number of things. I really hope that he didn't punch anyone in the face though, because I'm not too fond of brutish violence. 

"I took his phone and smashed it," he admits, looking down into his drink as if he's consulting the Manhattan as to whether he made the right choice or not. I'm not sure what the drink whispers back because then he nods and says, "He completely deserved it. I don't feel bad in the slightest."

"Fair enough," I comment. "Though you'd think you'd learn to control your temper at this point."

He stiffens and his eyes blaze darkly as he looks at me. I've touched a nerve. "Control my temper?" he repeats, then shakes his head and looks over my head at the dance floor. "You have no idea."

"Try me," I tell him. "Half the people here at this wedding work with me. Take a good look. Most are potheads and drunks and I have to handle them. Have you ever had to answer questions like ‘how do I make a copy?' and ‘why isn't my internet working?' day after day? Believe me. I don't have the patience of a saint but I have to control myself. For my job."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were lecturing me," he says, his words sharp. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be me?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh woe is me, huh? I bet having all that money is a fair enough trade for being tabloid fodder. There's nothing worse than a privileged celebrity complaining about this kind of shit. Do you ever stop for a moment and realize the rest of the world would kill to have your problems, especially when you're bringing all of this on yourself?"

Emmett's eyes never leave mine as he finishes the rest of his drink. Totally. Intense.

"You're not as nice as I thought you were."

"Because I'm telling you the truth and people hate that. Believe me. Especially men who think they have their shit together."

He raises his brows. "Wow. Is the alcohol making you worse or better? I can't really tell."

I give him a quick smile. "I'm always like this. Prickly, remember?"

"I think I'd rather focus on the soft bits again. Finish your drink." He nods at it. "Let's dance."

I don't like being told what to do. And though I love dancing, I'm not a fan of slow dancing, especially with someone I don't really know.

But there's a dare in his eyes. He thinks I won't do it.

I drink the rest back and place it on a high table. "Fine."