The Player--A Scorching Hot Romance by Stefanie London

Author:Stefanie London
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-12-16T19:58:32+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Emery

THE DINNER PROGRESSED better than I had anticipated, despite the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Diamandis looked as far from people who might buy my game as humanly possible. Seriously, I’m pretty sure the sapphire and diamond ring on her finger was worth more than my apartment. But they were lovely, curious about me, and I found myself enjoying talking about my work for the first time in a while.

They had no idea who I was and what I’d done before, so I could leave the baggage behind. The excitement I’d had for game making in the early days came roaring back and I felt like my old self again.

And it’s all thanks to Rowan.

Every so often through the dinner, my eyes would flick to his and something would pass between us. A ripple of connection, or partnership, electric with attraction. The second we’d walked in here, I felt like a total fish out of water, and he’d sensed that. There was something soothing about Rowan’s presence.

Which is a huge surprise. But he’s so good with people. He had the clients laughing and eating out of the palm of his hand. Wine and champagne flowed. Too much, perhaps. Because I’m feeling a little fuzzy as we walk back into the night air. And now it’s hard to look at him without remembering last night.

Oh, God, last night.

I’m no virgin, believe me. I’ve had my share of boyfriends and the occasional ill-advised, drunken tumble. But last night was...something else.

Maybe because it’s been a while. The first piece of chocolate after staying off sugar for six months is bound to taste good, right? Yet, no matter how I try to rationalise the feelings away, I know it wasn’t anything to do with having been in a drought.

It was him.

It was us.

And that makes me nervous as hell. Because now we’re getting into a taxi and heading home, and I’ve invited him to come to my place...the scene of the crime. How am I going to watch him walk through my door and not think about him standing there last night, backlit with eyes like fire? How am I ever going to look at my couch again when I know what it feels like to have his body pressing me into the soft cushions?

The drive is quick. I stare out the window, my head a jumble of thoughts, and suddenly I do wish I’d dressed up a little more—not for the fancy restaurant or the clients, but for him. And that’s not how I usually think.

It’s the wine. And latent onset horniness.

When the taxi pulls up in front of 21 Love Street, Rowan pays the driver. Then he steps out and holds his hand toward mine like a total gentleman. I have to remind myself that this is nothing more than a night out between colleagues. Only he’s not looking at me like I’m a colleague and I’m pretty damn sure that’s not how I’m looking at him, either.

You signed the contract. This is business.

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