The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

“There are studies on that?”

“Lots of them.” Her initial Google search had pulled up more than fourteen million hits.

He pushed back from the counter, taking one of the to-go cups with him. “It’ll never work.”

The look of know-it-all smarm on his handsome face as he took a drink, watching her over the rim of his lid, was enough to make her want to march right over to him and—ohhhhhh! He almost got her that time. He just wanted to rile her up. Her brothers had loved to do the same thing. They’d push right past her natural shyness until she reacted. She’d learned to avoid getting drawn in with them, and she sure wasn’t going to fall for it with Hudson. She inhaled a long breath through her nose and held it for the count of three before releasing. There, much better.

“It will,” she said, her voice as firm as her resolve. “I’ve done the research.”

He rounded the counter to her side, stopping just short of where she stood, too stubborn to give up ground in her own apartment for the sake of her crazy libido. His gaze dipped down to her mouth, then to her hard nipples poking against the T-shirt—obviously she was cold with her hair being wet like it was. For five nerve-wracking seconds she just stood there, anticipation crawling across her skin as he dragged his gaze back to her lips. She didn’t want another kiss. She didn’t. But her tongue darted out and wet her lips of its own volition anyway.

“And if it doesn’t work?” he asked, a rough grit to his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The words were out before she’d thought them through. “Then, we do things your way.”

“No matter what?” He took another step forward.

“Within reason,” she said, her voice shaky.

She could feel his body heat, see the way his pupils had dilated, and her fingers twitched with the need to reach out to touch him.

“Fair enough,” he said.

He reached out.

Her breath caught.

He moved his hand past her, leaving a trail of almost-coulda-been behind him and took a cherry danish out of the box behind her. Air filled her lungs with a whoosh as she watched him take a bite.

“One for the road,” he said with a grin, his voice back to its normal teasing tone. “I’ll be back at seven. Wear something boring-business-dinner-hell appropriate.”

She blinked, trying to catch up with the jump the conversation had taken. “What for?”

“Carlyle Enterprises client dinner,” he said as he backtracked to the chair, put on his shoes, and then moved toward the door, Honeypot curling between his legs in a figure eight as he did so. “Tyler will be there. It’ll be the perfect little test environment for your theory.”

Hustling to the door, she picked up the cat, refusing the flinch when the ingrate sank her claws into her forearm. “I’m right.”

He gave her an indulgent smile and opened the door. “Of course you are.”

The man may not have many brain cells—at least not ones he’d admit to—but he was smart enough to get out and close the door behind him before she could formulate an appropriately scathing remark. And she would. It would just take a few hours—and even if he was still around, she probably wouldn’t be able to get it out. Honeypot hopped up onto the counter and then the windowsill, where she started wailing. That man. He’d pushed his way into her life, made her cat fall in love with him, and was questioning her tactics. Well, Mr. Hot and Rich was about to learn just how very wrong he was.

Chapter Six

Wearing her go-to little black dress wasn’t going to work for this, since Felicia had just worn it at a few nights ago at the fundraiser. Staring into her tiny closet—organized to utilize every inch of its nearly n

onexistent size—she came up with two options. One, the navy blue pantsuit was all business. Two, the gunmetal gray sheath dress that covered her from neck to knee. On most people, the dress would have been a miniskirt, but Felicia would have to shop in the kids’ department to find something that fit her that way—not that she did. Neither outfit got her particularly excited, but they’d work. She just couldn’t decide which one. Done with trying to figure it out on her own, she grabbed her phone and hit up the second person on her help-a-sister-out list.

Felicia: One or two?

Frankie: Context.

Felicia: Trying to pick an outfit.

Frankie: ???

Felicia: It’s Fallon’s Vegas weekend.

Frankie: So I become ur go-to for clothes?