Expose Me

“My apartment.”

“What?” She shut her mouth with a snap. “Aren’t you Mr. Manners. I don’t recall you asking me to go home with you, Alex.”

“I didn’t.”

She stared at him; he looked so unruffled she would have thought he was bored, save for the magnetic gleam in his eyes. She felt a tangle of emotions: fascination, frustration, even a little fear.

And she was more excited, more aroused, than she’d been in a long, long time.

Which showed how screwed up she really was.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Do you think the caveman tactic is attractive?”

“No, I simply prefer to cut to the chase. You knew we’d be sleeping together from the moment you agreed to dinner, Chelsea.”

“A foregone conclusion, was it?” Her voice, thankfully, came out dry.

“We’re attracted to each other. We both view sex as—what did you call it? A basic need?”

“So?”

“So of course we’d sleep together.” He shrugged, as if the matter were of no consequence. “It is a foregone conclusion.”

“You’re very romantic,” she said, and her voice had taken on an edge. “Lay on the violins and roses, why don’t you?”

“I thought you’d appreciate my plain speaking.”

And normally she would, because that was how she always approached sex. She just didn’t like him approaching it that way. She was the one who told men how it was going to play out, and then she kicked them out the door when she was done.

She never went home with them. She never let them call the shots. She was always in control, always on top. Literally. And she usually didn’t even take off all of her clothes.

At least not her shirt.

The limo slowed and she saw they were already downtown, somewhere in Tribeca, near the Hudson River. And as amazed and aroused as she was by his sheer arrogance, she knew she wasn’t going to go into his apartment.

She wasn’t that stupid.

“Sorry, Diaz,” she said, “but I have my rules. I’m not going home with you.”

His gaze locked with hers, and his expression didn’t change. “Fine,” he answered. “Who said we needed a bed?”

A thrill ran through her, jolting her to her core. Why, she wondered distantly, was that sexy? Was it just because he was so incredibly good-looking, that she ignored his arrogance?

But no, it was his absolute assurance that made her weak with want. Thrilled and excited her. And considering her past experience, that made her one sick puppy.

Still she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. And neither did he. The chauffeur waited in the driver’s seat, separated by a soundproof, tinted window. Chelsea had no illusions that the man would know what they were up to. Maybe he’d done this before. Waited for Alex to finish his business.

Her palms went damp and she resisted the urge to wipe them against the side of her dress. Alex’s expression didn’t so much as flicker as he said in a low, sure voice, “Come here, Chelsea.”

Of course she shouldn’t move. Shouldn’t obey that absurd command. No way. Absolutely not. In fact, she should tell him just what he could do with his ridiculous, arrogant attitude. Shove it up his—

And yet she felt herself move, as if her body had a will of its own. She slid across the seat, her dress and coat whispering against the leather, her gaze glued to his. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried, which she didn’t. She could hear her own breath, almost a pant, loud in the utter silence of the car. So revealing, and yet she was unable to stop herself.