The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

Feeling foolish for my over-the-top hatred, I reply, “If you must know, I find you rather annoying.”

His mouth falls open as he fakes shock. “Are you always so coldhearted, Claire?”

I chuckle. “I think we both know who is coldhearted out of the two of us.”

His eyes hold mine, and then he raises his eyebrow. “What about your blood?”

“What about my blood?”

“Does your blood run hot?”

He’s so naughty.

Hmm . . . I hate to admit it, but there is definitely something about this guy.

I smile broadly at his audacity. “I don’t think you need to know about the temperature of my blood.”

“Oh, but a man does wonder.” He sips his drink with his eyes locked on mine. The air swirls between us. “Perhaps we should talk about it . . . outside.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile and then raises his eyebrow. “Off the clock, of course.”

“You want to go outside and talk about the temperature of my blood, Mr. Miles?”

“Yes,” he whispers as his eyes drop to my lips.

I lean in. “Mr. Miles,” I whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’m not attracted to you, on or off the clock.”

He puts his lips to my ear. “Liar.”

His breath tickles my skin and sends goose bumps scattering down my arms.

“Will you stop it?” I whisper as I look around, uncomfortable with my body’s reaction to him. Traitor.

His eyes hold mine. “Call me Tristan.”

“No.” I sip my drink. God, I wish I could tip my head back and drain the glass.

“Claire.” He leans in to whisper in my ear again.

“What?”

“Don’t be scared of calling me Tristan.”

I roll my eyes.

“Because one day very soon, I predict that you’re going to be moaning it.”

I smirk. “Are you always this delusional?”

“Just saying.” He gives a casual shrug and then turns and walks off, and I watch him walk through the crowd.

Nelson appears. “Here’s your drink.”

“Thanks.” I take it from him and look across the room to see Mr. Miles arrive at a group of women. They all gush and smile, and then he turns toward me. His dark eyes meet mine, and he gives me another slow, sexy smile before holding his glass in the air toward me, as if to signify the opening of the Olympic Games.

I swallow the lump in my throat.