CHAPTER45
Asshole!
“You’re very touchy-feely when you’re drunk, aren’t you?” He catches my finger and pushes it down. He has some gall calling anyone touchy-feely.
Mr. Hands-On Carrero!
“You’ve a touchy kind of face,” I smile, but the spinning starts to take over, and I decide to lay still to see if it will pass. I watch his green eyes in the dim light and wonder what he’s thinking about, mesmerized by the way his eyes change with his moods. Sometimes they’re dark and almost brown, other times pale and almost aqua. Normally, they’re a very bright, almost emerald green. That’s when I love them the most.
“Hmmmm.” He looks at me in an odd way and I can still see the hint of a frown; I stifle the urge to poke it again.
“Hmmmm!” I mimic in a mock deep male tone, “What’s ‘hmmmmm’ all about?”
Jake can be exasperating! I like Jake. I’m glad he’s my boss! I think we get on better than most boss-employees do.
“It’s just ‘hmmm’. You’re drunk. You’re making very little sense and your grabby hands are a little distracting. I think I need to put you to bed.” He’s not in playful mode, which is disappointing.
What does he mean, ‘grabby hands’?
I hold my hands up in front of me to look but they don’t look ‘grabby’ at all. I was merely having a little feel of a beautiful thing. He sighs, making me realize he’s closer and leaning down to peer at my face, as if he’s trying to gauge just how drunk I still am. I have the urge to say ‘hello’ or ‘peek-a-boo’.
“Where’s your hot Crone?” I laugh at my own joke. It’s rather funny.
Miss Crane … Crone. Get it?
He smiles, sighing deeply as though he has no idea what to do with me anymore. I notice that when he moves his jaw in any little way, his ear moves slightly, and I become fascinated by it. I wonder if all men have this special talent.
Would you call it a talent? Ear wiggling, a special skill of sexiness.
I giggle again.
“Emma, you’ve seriously lost your filter,” he laughs at me, looking at me in a ‘what am I going to do with my plastered PA’ kind of way. I reach up to poke his dimple again, but he catches my hand and pushes it down firmly.
Damn, he’s quick.
“Mr. Cartier-ro, leave my fingers alone,” I sound out in a proper British accent. Amused.
Now that’s funny, because Cartier is one of his favorite places to spend huge amounts of money on leggy dates like Crone.
I’m making him laugh; when he smiles naturally like that it makes me want to smile too. He’s infectious.
God, I could lick that smile, it’s so delicious. I want to taste it.
“As amusing as this is, Emma, you’re going to have to go to bed. As much fun as you are drunk, I think I’ll get more sense out of you over breakfast.” He puts his mug down on the table with a decisive glance my way.
“I don’t want to sleep,” I pout, full child mode returning.
“Tough, you’re going to bed. I have a duty of care,” He scolds softly.
“I won’t go; you can’t make me.” I’m sure my childhood sulky face still exists; I’m pretty sure it’s making a comeback. I try and swat his face and hands as he reaches to help me up.
“Aargh. Emma!” He runs his fingers through his styled hairdo, messing it up. I think he’s frustrated with me, but I don’t care as I don’t want to go to bed to be alone with my own mind.
I ogle his mussed hair. I like it better like that, less groomed and perfect, a little rugged. It really does make him look so much hotter, that ‘just fucked’ look."
