Getting Even. Kayla Perrin

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      Chapter One

      Claudia

      They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but if you ask me, that’s a load of bull. Hands down, that gold-lined path travels through his libido.

      I should know. Right now, I’m practically dying of embarrassment as I sit in a north Atlanta restaurant with the man of my dreams, Adam Hart. I’m trying to look nonchalant beside him in our booth, sipping a margarita through a straw, while Adam has his hand between my legs. His fingers tickle my skin as they inch farther up my thighs.

      “Adam,” I admonish playfully as his fingers skirt my panties. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

      “Don’t I look serious to you?”

      He does look serious—which is exactly the problem. He is entirely too serious about this naughty bit of foreplay. “Sweetheart, you know how much I love this, but—”

      “What, this?”

      My eyelids flutter as he strokes my nub.

      “Mmm,” I moan softly. Then look up in horror as the waiter appears at our table. My face flames, and I wonder if my pale brown skin registers any blush of my embarrassment. I squeeze my legs together, but that does nothing to stop Adam’s fingers.

      “Have you decided what you’d like?” the waiter asks. I’m not sure if there’s a knowing glint in his eye. If not, he must think Adam and I are so in love that we can’t bear to be physically apart from each other. Why else would we be sharing the same side of a booth, practically glued at the hip?

      “Um,” I begin. I haven’t even looked at the menu. “I think we need a few more minutes.”

      “I know what I want,” Adam says. He’s looking at me though, not at the waiter, and I want to smack him. No, that’s a lie. I want to take him outside and get busy with him in the back seat of his Mercedes SUV. I really do enjoy Adam’s obvious lust for me. I’m just not comfortable with how much he likes to display it in public.

      “New York steak,” Adam continues. “Rare. I like it red.”

      “I’ll have the same,” I say, hoping to hell that I’m not blushing. “Medium well.”

      “Rice or baked potato?”

      “Rice,” both Adam and I respond.

      The waiter scribbles notes on a pad. “That comes with soup or salad—”

      “Two house salads to start,” I interject, cutting off the waiter. “And an order of garlic bread. Also, a half liter of Chardonnay.”

      “Make it a bottle,” Adam says.

      My eyes meet his in surprise. His gaze is smoky, and as he bites down on his bottom lip, I feel an excited shiver dance across my shoulders. I know what he wants. To get me drunk so I’m more likely to be less inhibited.

      I wonder what he wants me to try this time.

      “That’s everything?” the waiter asks.

      I have all but forgotten about the waiter. I look up at the college kid and grin. “That’s plenty.”

      Thank the Lord, the waiter turns and walks away. He doesn’t know me, but still I let out a relieved breath. СКАЧАТЬ