Man Candy Read Online Free PDF Page B

down or
    give in.
    A game of chicken—just like the old
    days.
    But despite her tempting mouth, I
    quickly strategized that kissing her now
    would be a mistake. The little minx had
    just told me she wasn’t attracted to me—
    I couldn’t give her what she wanted yet.
    I hadn’t missed what she said about no-
    strings sex (and believe me, my dick had
    taken that as an invitation and went
    looking for his party hat), but I didn’t
    want that from her.
    I backed off. “Well, thanks for the
    drink. This was nice.”
    She blinked, her icy facade in a
    puddle at her feet. “You’re leaving?”
    “Yeah, I should get back downstairs
    and finish unpacking.”
    “Oh. OK.” She cleared her throat.
    “Yeah, that’s good. I actually have some
    work to do tonight.”
    I walked out of the kitchen, glad she
    was behind me and couldn’t see the grin
    on my face. In the living room, she
    shouldered past me and pulled open the
    door. Then she stood behind it like it
    was some sort of shield, making it
    impossible to even hug her.
    “Thanks for the wine. Don’t drink
    too much, now.” I gave her ponytail a tug
    before heading out the door, like I used
    to when she was just Alex’s little sister,
    gratified at the annoyed expression it put
    on her face.
    “You’re welcome,” she snapped,
    letting me know I was anything but.
    The sound of her door slamming
    behind me made me smile even bigger.
    She was something else. Feisty as
    she was back then and ten times hotter.
    I bet she’s a firecracker in bed. I bet
    she likes to be on top and call the
    shots, which I’d happily allow her to
    do, but that also means it would be an
    even bigger challenge—and maybe
    even more fun—to subdue her.
    For a moment my mind wandered to
    a place where I had her restrained,
    blindfolded, and on her knees.
    Jesus.
    I had to stop halfway down the stairs
    and adjust my pants again.
    Back in my apartment, I finished
    unpacking and tried to study, but it was
    useless—I couldn’t stop thinking about
    her. And not just sexual stuff, either.
    OK yeah, mostly sexual stuff.
    But I didn’t want to just fuck her. She
    wasn’t some random girl at a bar in
    Prague I’d never see again (although we
    had fun that night, didn’t we, Veronika?).
    She was someone from my past I felt a
    connection with. Someone I wanted to
    know better now. Someone who
    mattered to me.
    Eventually my stomach started
    growling, so I went to the store for a few
    groceries, and when I got home, I
    noticed her living room lights were still
    on. I thought about knocking on her door,
    inviting her down for chicken Caesar
    salad. (“You have heard of salad before,
    right? It’s, like, lettuce and a few other
    delicious, healthy things in a bowl?”)
    But I didn’t do it, because I knew
    she’d have turned me down. I was pretty
    good at reading people, and I had the
    feeling Jaime was a woman who liked
    things on her own terms, and if you
    weren’t willing to meet her terms, you
    could fuck right off—especially if your
    name was Quinn Rusek.
    It made me smile.
    I mean, she’d clearly wanted me to
    kiss her in the kitchen, if only to prove
    that I was the kind of guy who couldn’t
    keep my hands to myself.
    But the more I thought about it, the
    more I was glad I’d backed away. I
    could play the long game with her,
    especially if the game was chicken.
    When I kissed her—and I was going
    to kiss her—it was going to be on my
    terms.
    I wanted her to come to me and
    admit she felt that spark. I wanted her to
    give me another chance. I wanted to do
    things differently with her.
    But first, I wanted to make her sweat
    a little.
    Then I wanted to make her sweat a
    lot.
    FIVE
    JAIME
    I WAS FUMING.
    The nerve.
    The fucking nerve of the guy.
    He’d wanted to kiss me, I knew he
    had—so why didn’t he do it? Or had I
    misread him again? God, why was
    Quinn Rusek so hard for me to figure
    out? For crying out loud, I had degrees
    in psychology and marketing! I made