Page 41 of The Charmer
“What are you doing here? I told you not to come.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and grinned, sending her pulse hammering. “In answer to your first question, I’m here because I’m interested in art. As for you telling me not to come, surely you know that I love a challenge?”
She clenched the bag of cheap plastic cups in her hand so hard they crackled. “That’s what I am to you, isn’t it? A challenge. ‘Let’s see how much I can suck up to the flighty artist and watch her capitulate and hand me her gallery on a platter.’ Well, I’ve got news for you, bozo. It isn’t going to happen.”
She expected him to frown, to glower, to muster that stern business expression like yesterday when he’d presented his lousy pitch. Instead, his infuriating grin widened.
“You’re stunning when you’re angry.”
A tiny thrill of happiness shot through her—a girl had her pride, after all—before she fixed him with a glare designed to intimidate. “And you’re full of it. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back out there.”
“Oh, but I do mind,” he murmured as she attempted to push past him and, short of plastering her body against his in the doorway, she stopped and waited for him to lower his arm.
He did.
Only as far as her waist.
“You can keep running from me all night but I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk and I’m not leaving until that happens.”
He soft words dripped with gentle persuasion but she barely registered them as the light touch of his hand resting on her waist sent her hormones into a tailspin. The warmth from his palm scorched through the snug velvet hugging her waist, branding her skin and enticing her to do all sorts of crazy things, like slide into his arms for an all-over body experience of that seductive warmth.
Stupid. She knew his touch didn’t mean a thing. She knew flirting was second nature to a successful guy like him. And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she should boot his butt out the door so quickly he wouldn’t have time to register it.
Instead, she tilted her chin up, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “If you’re sticking around, make yourself useful. I could do with a spare pair of hands.”
With that, she plucked his hand off her waist, holding it a fraction too long before dropping it and walking away without a backward glance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“What a night.” Ariel flopped onto a sofa, toed off her three-inch cork wedges, and rubbed her aching feet, wishing a cup of tea would miraculously appear in her hand.
“Would you like something to drink? A nice hot cup of tea perhaps?” Cooper squatted in front of her, still looking perky and gorgeous while she felt like a washed out rag.
“I knew I let you stay for a reason,” she said, hating how her heart lurched at the tender expression on his face, at the way his lips curved in a smile, at the way he read her mind and knew exactly what she needed at that precise moment. “A cup of blackcurrant and apple tea would be great.”
He grimaced. “That combo belongs in a kid’s fruit drink.”
“It’s delicious. Then again, a caffeine addict like you wouldn’t have a clue.” She softened her dig with a smile and his answering grin warmed her from the inside out, better than a cup of tea.
“You sit tight and this clueless coffee connoisseur will bring your fruity concoction in a jiffy.”
As Cooper straightened and strode away, she admired how the black denim moulded his butt and his long, lean legs. Predictably, her pulse raced and heat stole through her.
She shouldn’t have let him stay.
She should’ve booted him out with the rest of the stragglers—an exuberant Chelsea and matchmaking Sofia—but she didn’t have the energy. Besides, there was nothing he could say that would change her mind about selling the gallery and she wanted to make that clear.
Once she outlined her plans for raising the necessary funds, she had no doubt she’d see the back of Cooper Vance.
She should be rapt. Instead, an empty feeling blossomed in the vicinity of her heart and spread outward, icy tentacles of loneliness creeping through her and making her wish for all sorts of futile things.
She wished Cooper wasn’t a callous businessman.
She wished they’d met under different circumstances.
Scariest of all, she wished she didn’t have a huge crush on a guy who had no interest in her other than as a means to an end.
“Here we are, one cup of hot fruit punch as requested.” He pretended to gag. “Gross.”