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When I arrive at the table, I carefully set down the tumblers full of ice and pour their drinks. One after another, they graze my hand or pretend not to see me by accidentally touching me. Typical.
 All except him. 
When I move around to him and lean across his broad shoulders, he makes no attempt to touch me accidentally.
I remove my hand from the tumbler and catch a whiff of his scent. The spice and woody oak hits the base of my nose and threatens to overtake all my senses.
 His gaze travels up my arm slowly until his eyes reach mine, burning a hole through my panties. “I don’t want this.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the drink.
 “No, sir?” “That brand tastes like chewed-out ass.” “And you’d know what that tastes like?” The words slip out of my mouth before I can reign them back in. I can’t help but mock the rich prick. Usually, I smile sweetly and take any requests, but something about this guy is rubbing me the wrong way.
 He narrows his eyes, and a furtive glint catches my attention—an alluring heat that seems to intensify the frisson of electricity already surging between us.
Is he enjoying toying with me?
 Regardless, I can’t be that cavalier. I need this job. “What is it you’d like?” I ask, quickly correcting myself and smiling sweetly. His gaze drifts from my eyes to my lips, tracing deathly slow along the column of my neck to my breasts spilling from my bustier. Like a sultry embrace, a seductive warmth envelops my body as the heat circles its way around my thighs. It’s as if the temperature has been turned up, causing my skin to flush and my breath to quicken with every passing moment. The sensation is thrilling and unnerving, leaving me feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated at the same time.
 His eyes quickly dart back to meet mine. With a stern expression, he declares, “There’s nothing you can give me.”
 “Excuse me?” Heat gone, incoming hate, and an invisible hand that slaps him across the face. Damn, he is handsome, but a girl has some level of self-respect.
 Ignoring my question, he continues, “Macallan. A glass of Macallan.”
He turns, ignoring me completely, and a new level of anger slides down my shoulders. This is an excerpt from HUNGRY HEART CRUEL LUST “What are you thinking?” I taunt, enjoying the way she tenses at my question. “Are you wondering how long it would take to find shelter when you don’t have the first idea of our location? Maybe you’re asking yourself how to get hold of my car keys. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re wondering if I’ll stop myself the next time I have you pinned to a bed.” “Stop,” she growls out, almost baring her teeth at her own reflection. “Who are you talking to? Me, or yourself? Because some things can’t be excused away so easily. Such as how desperate you are for me.” “Stop saying that,” she whispers, her usual bite absent. Unlikely. This is what gets through to Emilia—more than pain and the threat of dying. That she can handle. Being accused of wanting my cock, on the other hand? She wants to spit nails, and I might be insulted if I didn’t know she was lying to herself. “Do you mean to tell me you would fight me off if I bent you over that sink right now?” “You won’t.” “And you know this how?” “Because you would’ve done it by now if that was what you planned to do.” She stands up straight, tucking her hair behind both ears before lifting her chin. Dear God, why does that slight gesture stiffen my dick the way it does? The last thing I want from her is some misguided, childish sense of strength to rear its head. Like I don’t have enough complications to deal with already. All it takes is a glimpse of the fire in her blue eyes to awaken every predatory instinct I’ve spent my life trying to manage. Now I’m a cat toying with a mouse it has cornered, and my pulse picks up speed in anticipation of what could be fun. There is so much I need to consider, so much I should be planning. But this is a diversion, and one I desperately need. I lunge toward her, pressing the small of her back against the sink. She leans away until the back of her head touches the mirror, breathing fast, her body stiff. I know from experience it won’t be that way for long, and she confirms this by trembling when I run my hand down her side. “What about now?” I whisper, leaning in close, inhaling the sweetness of her hair and skin and tuning in to her rapid, shallow breaths. “Here we are. Me against you, you against the sink. What are you going to do about it? Because from where I’m standing…” She grinds her teeth together when I cup her tit, molding it against my palm, closing my eyes to absorb the feel of it—the firmness, the weight, and that tight nipple brushing against my palm. “From where I’m standing, you are a heartbeat away from begging for me.” “Keep telling yourself that,” she grunts out. “I have to give it to you. You’re damn determined to keep up the act.” “You haven’t figured out yet that it’s not an act?” “Isn’t it?” I ask with a humorless laugh before upping the ante. Her gasp rings out sharp and loud when I thrust a hand between her thighs to cup her sex. Her mouth falls open, and her features soften. Yes, this is what she wants, what we both want, what we’ve always wanted since the club. If things had gone differently that night, I would’ve fucked her until she swore she was hit by a hurricane. I might never have let her out of my bed. “Say it again,” I croon close to her ear, grinning at the way she shivers when my breath hits her skin. “Tell me this isn’t what you want. Come on, Detective. Lie to me. I dare you.”