The Bad Boy Wants Me(17)

‘Prince doesn’t get out, or you’re never coming to my parties again,’ he says. His voice is flatter than the flattest thing you can think of.

‘Fine,’ Britney agrees sulkily. ‘I won’t let him out.’ She turns toward me. ‘Do you want to come and meet Prince, Tori?’

I do very much want to meet Prince. I know that he is an enormous, pale tan beast of a Kangal. Two years ago it was all over the news how he had been found in a drug dealer’s backyard, snarling, his bones showing, and his ears chopped off so that he would look fiercer. He was already in the police dog pound waiting to be put down since Kangals are classified in some countries as one of the dangerous dog breeds, but Cash had seen his picture in the newspapers and fallen in love with him. I suppose he must have called in a whole lot of favors because he got the dog.

Kangals are intimidating monsters, capable of warding off wolves, bears and jackals, but the only photos I have seen of his dog are those where he is standing on his hind legs and resting his great big front paws on Cash’s shoulders while he licks his master’s face like some great big puppy.

I’m about to agree to go see him when Cash speaks up.

‘No, you go on ahead. Let Tori stay here and say hello to me.’

‘All right,’ she agrees and moves away.

I take a deep breath and look up at Cash.

He lets his smoldering eyes slowly travel down my body. I think I manage to keep a version of a too-cool-for-school expression going on my face, or maybe not, since my skin gets so hot my eyebrows feel like they are on fire.

Baring icy white teeth, he drawls, ‘You look ravishing, but … Zebra prints? That’s false advertising surely.’

I frown. ‘What are you trying to imply now?’

‘I’m not trying to imply anything. Just sayin’ it might have been more truthful to go with wildcat prints, but I guess we both know you’re not very honest.’

‘And what the hell is that supposed to mean?’ I demand, getting more and more annoyed.

‘You want some of this,’ he flicks his hand down his annoyingly hunky body, ‘but you pretend not to.’

‘God, you sure have an extraordinarily big head, don’t you?’ I mutter, irritated that he is 101% right in his assessment of the situation.

His eyes gleam. ‘That’s me. Big head, big mouth, big cock …’

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts my head. ‘Oh, here we go again.’

‘Why are you so mad at me? I’m just trying to be helpful. You know, reading out the label so there are no surprises later.’ He drops his head, looks down at his feet so his wet eyelashes are almost sweeping his cheeks, then looks at me through the spiky curtain.

God, damn him, even though I know it’s all callous manipulation and technique, it still stirs my heart. It’s so freaking difficult to keep pretending and saying no, when all I want to do is fall into his fantastic arms and let him sweep me off to his lovely bed. I desperately need to put some distance between us.

‘You’re not that cute, and I will never fall for that tired, old stunt,’ I say, pulling together my scattered wits.

‘Never?’ he asks.

‘Never,’ I say firmly.

‘You could crush a guy saying things like that,’ he murmurs.

‘It doesn’t seem to be doing you any harm,’ I retort.

‘I’m worried about the drip, drip effect,’ he says softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Over time even very hard things can be worn down.’

I ignore the sexual innuendo. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll be around long enough for you to notice such an effect.’

‘I don’t know. After a mind-blowing climax with a side of wow, you might want to stay around. Maybe even stalk me.’

If only he knew. I was already stalking him. ‘Men like you badly need to slip on a banana skin and fall flat on your butt.’

‘I’d love to see you eat a banana. I bet you kill it,’ he says huskily.

I open my mouth to reply and nothing comes out. God help me. I have a vision of myself running kisses along his jaw.

Without warning he moves in for the kill, his mouth inches from mine, his arm brushing mine, the clean male smell of him making my senses reel. Horrified, I lean back.

‘By the way,’ he whispers seriously. ‘That’s not pussy you’re smelling. I just ate a tuna fish sandwich.’

There’s no fishy smell. Gross bastard. He knows I want him and he’s just keeping me in the sexual prey zone. An image of his head between my legs slips into my mind and something inside me lurches. I should shove him away, or say something cutting.