"Why?" I scoffed. "So you can givethatperson a terrible reference, too – as if you haven't already."
He leaned back in his chair. "I will if they deserve it."
"So you admit it?" I said. "Youhavebeen giving terrible references?"
With something like a shrug, he replied, "Not lately."
His calmness grated, even more so when he did the unthinkable. He picked up his pen and begin twirling it absently through his fingers like he used to do, back when I'd been his assistant.
The movement was small, but incredibly distracting, considering how it showcased the limberness of his long, talented fingers.
And of course, I couldn’t help but recall the age-old theory that impressive fingers meant that something else was impressive, too. At the mere thought, my breath caught, and my stomach did a funny little flip.
I started to lean forward, but then caught myself just in time.Oh, for crying out loud.
What was wrong with me, anyway?
With growing irritation, I blurted out, "And why are you doing that?"
He didn't even pause. "Doing what?"
I pointed. "That thing with your fingers. You're just showing off."
His gaze drifted to his pen, and he paused in mid-motion. "You want the truth?"
"I suppose."
"I didn't realize I was doing it."
Oh, please.I made a scoffing sound. "Sure you didn't."
"What?" he chuckled. "You think I did it to impress you?"
When I replied with a sullen shrug, he smiled like he knew something I didn't. "Sowereyou?"
"Was I what?"
"Impressed."
"Maybe a little," I grudgingly admitted.
He gave a slow nod. "Good to know." And then, as if to rub salt in the gaping wound of my dignity, he began twirling the pen again, sifting it through his fingers like a street magician warming up the crowd.
I watched in mesmerized silence for several moments before I realized what he was doing. "You're just trying to distract me."
He grinned. "Is it working?"
"No."
His grin widened. "Liar."
Damn it.This wasn't going how I'd planned. I'd come here to chew him out, and now I was lusting after his fingers for cripe's sake.
My gaze drifted lower to parts of his anatomy that Icouldn’tsee, not through his massive desk – or his clothes for that matter.
Double damn it.
Perversely, I was now regretting that wehadn'tdone the deed. It's not that I loved him. I couldn't, not if there was any truth to what Harper had told me earlier. But Ididwant him, if only out of curiosity – and just maybe to get him out of my system.
