What did he think? He thought of her sitting on his desk in front of him, his hands pushing the skirt up her legs, because as much as Mark loved spending time with a nice pair of breasts, he was ultimately a thigh man. A woman’s smooth inner thighs were his favorite parts. He loved sliding his palms up soft, warm skin, getting softer and warmer as his hand moved up higher.
“What do you think, Mr. Bressler?”
The weight slowly lowered to just beneath his navel and stopped before reaching his groin. “I don’t cook.” Six months ago, he would have had a full-blown erection by now.
“You don’t have to cook.”
The warm heaviness was the most of anything he’d felt in a long time and the very last thing he wanted to feel for the woman pressing into him. “Tell me again? Why am I looking at real estate?”
“Because you want to move.”
He placed his left hand on the desk and stood, balancing most of his weight on his right side. He didn’t need her butting into his business and trying to run his life. “I never told you that.”
She was forced to take a step back. “You mentioned it.”
He turned and leaned his behind on the desk. “If I mention that I haven’t been laid for six months, are you going to start lining up hookers?”
Her brows lowered over her blue eyes. “You didn’t get laid yesterday?”
God, did she ever react like a normal woman?
“You didn’t hook up with Donda?”
The Sports Illustrated reporter? “No.” He’d never hook up with a reporter, on the off chance she’d write about it.
“Or anyone else?”
Why would she think something like that? “It’s none of your damn business.”
Her gaze narrowed. “It is when you make me buy you condoms and KY and a magnum pleasure ring. God, that was embarrassing and just plain gross. And it was all for nothing!”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I was thinking about getting laid.” She looked mad. Good. That made two of them. Pushy woman. She needed to back off, and she really needed to stop rubbing against him before he did get a hard-on. Or worse, much worse, before she noticed that he couldn’t get it up. That he wasn’t a functioning man. “But thinking about sex and buying condoms doesn’t mean I want to do it with you. So you can stop rubbing yourself against me. I’m not that desperate.”
Her big blue eyes rounded. “What?”
“You’re not my type of woman. I’m not a boob man, and rubbing your breasts against me doesn’t turn me on.”
“I didn’t rub against you.”
“You rubbed.” He pointed his rigid middle finger a diddle fit all the ruffles on her blouse. “I don’t want to have sex with you. No offense.”
Her mouth fell open. “‘No offense’? You’ve been trying to offend me since the first day we met.”
He dropped his hand to the top of the desk beside his right hip. That was true.
“You’ve been working overtime at it.”
No, he hadn’t. If he’d been working overtime, he would have said, “Now, don’t get all mad and bitter and hurt. I’m sure some men find you attractive. I’m just not one of them. Honestly, I just can’t get it up for a woman with a smart mouth, big boobs, and ridiculous hair. It’s just totally out of the question.”
She blinked. He’d shocked her, and he half expected her to storm out of his house. “That’s a relief.” A smile curved her full pink lips. “I’ve quit, or been fired, from a lot of jobs because I refused to have sex with my boss.” Her nose crinkled like she smelled something bad. “You wouldn’t believe what some men have wanted me to do.”
Actually, he probably could. Men were fairly predictable.
“It’s disgusting. The last guy I worked for expected a BJ.”
And while men and some women were fairly predictable, she was not. She didn’t react like he expected because she wasn’t a normal woman. She had yellow and reddish-pink hair and dressed like an abstract painting.
She laughed as she shook her head. “It’s a huge relief to know I never have to worry about that from you.”
For a man who’d never had to work all that hard at getting a woman in bed, her laughter irritated him more than usual. Which said a lot. “Hold on. You’re not ugly. I didn’t say anything about a BJ being out of the question.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts, and her arms got lost in gold ruffles. “Well, it is.” In fact, he’d never seen such relief on a woman’s face. It made her smile huge and brightened her eyes like she’d just won the tri- state lotto. “And since we’re being honest, I just have to tell you, Mr. Bressler, that I don’t find you in the least attractive either.” She lifted a hand out of all those ruffles before tucking it back inside.
“Praise Jesus,” he said through a frown as a dull ache settled in the backs of his eyes. This conversation wasn’t going where he wanted. She was supposed to be getting mad and he was supposed to be laughing as he watched her walk out the door.
* * *
Chelsea looked at the tall, arrogant man in front of her. At his powerful arms and big chest. His scowl and his hard gaze. The jerk didn’t like a taste of his own medicine. “Really, you have no idea how relieved I am to know that I never have to have sex with you.”
“Yeh, I think I have some idea;
“I’m just so glad we have it out in the open.” You’re not ugly. She wasn’t the least ugly. In fact, she thought she was pretty darn attractive. He was just a typical jock a-hole who thought he was so special he should date supermodels. “And in the future, if I lean over to show you something and I accidentally touch you, it’s not on purpose.” And because she really did want to keep her job, she added, “Although I’m sure lots of women would kill to touch you.”
His brows lowered over his dark eyes, and combined with the black shadow of his beard, he looked kind of scary. “Just not you.”
But Chelsea had faced a lot scarier things than one moody hockey player. For all his weight and bulk and anger, he didn’t intimidate her. “No. Not me.” Time to change the subject before he got mad and got her fired. Or worse, sent her on another humiliating and senseless errand like buying condoms. “I think your participation in the charity golf tournament is important. First, because it’s for charity and the press will give it more attention if you’re there. Second, because your fans want to see you.”
“Are we back to that?” He closed his eyes and groaned. “God, you’re like a tick burrowing into my head. I told you I can’t play. I’d come in over par on every damn shot.”
A pit bull and now a tick. Flattering. “Your score isn’t the point.”
“The score is always the point.” He reached for his cane and rose to his full height. “I don’t play anything that I can’t win.”
“You don’t celebrate second place.”
“That’s right.”
“This event is for charity. The point of playing for any charity isn’t whether you win first, second, or third. It’s your participation.” He opened his mouth to argue but she held up one hand. “Just think about it. I have another week before I have to give them an answer either way.”
He moved past her. “Stop interfering in my life.”
“I’m just trying to help you.” She followed him. “I’m really at a loss here. I don’t know what you need.”
He stopped suddenly and she almost ran into his wide back and black nylon jogging pants.
“You are the only person I’ve ever worked for that doesn’t have an impossible list for me. You don’t have a list at all. Tell me what you need for me to do for you.”
His back straightened. “I don’t need you to do anything for me.”
She moved in front of him and looked up into his face. Light from the front of the house slashed across his nose and the top of his chest. His mouth was compressed even more than usual. “The Chinooks are paying me good
