Page 92 of Twisted Knight

But here he is with a sexy smile and an incredible body, cracking jokes and looking relaxed and comfortable.

I have to get this back on track.

“This isn’t a joke, Holden. This—us—tonight—can have serious implications for us professionally. For me professionally.” I think of the board, of our managers, of my family. What they’d all think if they found out. How I basically proved every stereotype placed on me right with what just happened—that I let my emotions rule rather than my common sense. Just like women do. “This can’t happen again. It was just sex. It was a moment of weakness on both of our parts.”

He snorts. “Speak for yourself because I beg to differ. There was nothing weak about that performance. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“I know but that’s just it. I—”

“Did you go hide in the bathroom so you could make up some kind of Venn diagram to explain to yourself why this can’t happen? Did you make sure that ‘Rowan’s pleasure’ and ‘Rowan working with Holden’ didn’t intersect so that you can control the narrative? So that you can deny how I just made you feel?”

“You’re making me sound like an idiot.”

“For the record, Row. No one controls me. Not a diagram. Not your type A personality. Not the fucking norm. Nothing.” He runs a hand through his hair and the ruffled look of it only makes him sexier—if that’s even possible. “And ‘just sex’? Were those your words? Someone only says that when they want more. Do you want more, Rowan?”

“God. No,” I sputter.

“I’m taking offense to that. Grave offense.”

“I told you. This was a mistake. It can’t happen ag—”

“Again. Yes. I heard you. If I can’t take offense, can I be insulted, then?” He chuckles and the sound has me thinking of what it felt like when he laughed with my nipple in his mouth. The shockwaves the sensation sent through my system. “I’m thinking I should be insulted.”

“No. I—I’m not doing a very good job explaining myself.”

“I’m all ears.” His smile is slow and mischievous … and reignites the spark in my lower belly.

“This. You and me. It was just sex. Just the physical. Only one time. Only tonight to get each other out of our systems.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. I—I still loathe you.”

“Yes. Uh-huh. You sounded like you hated me as you begged me to make you come harder.”

“See, that right there.” I point my finger at him. “You can’t say shit like that. No one gave you permission to.”

“Right.” He nods but doesn’t fight his grin. Clearly, he finds this conversation more than amusing.

“I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Good. You should. I mean, why would I want to lie here and watch your nipples poking through the fabric of my shirt?” His eyes wander down the narrow strip of his shirt where my bare skin shows. I yank it closed and cross my arms over my chest.

“Yes. I will.”

“You’re forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?” I ask, distracted, as I look for my clothes.

“This is your house.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter and just hang my head and laugh. I’m never flustered by a man and yet here I am, flustered and acting like an airhead.

“Was the sex that good that you forgot? Because one minute you’re telling me I have to go and the next you’re—”

“You just don’t get it.”

“Clearly.” He scoots up in bed so that he’s resting against the headboard, one knee bent, and the sheet dipping dangerously low so I can see the outline of his cock beneath it. “Explain it to me.”