"The fuck it isn't." He tosses his beautiful head, and I recognize the flash of pain beneath the fighter's stance. It's the very thing that attracted me to him when we were teens-what gave him depth. He wasn't another dumb meathead follower of Garrett's. His emotions ran deep, and though he kept them bottled up most of the time, they came out through his fists, and with me, through passion.
I just want to move close and comfort him. As angry as he is, I know he won't hurt me. He would never hurt me.
"You still have it out for me."
"I don't." I swallow, trying to wet my mouth. I need to remember why I'm here. I need to remember that Trey is a player, and any attraction I feel for his beautiful fighter's body will soon be obliterated because deep down he's a lying, cheating low-down dirty dog. "I represent the pack."
"Not my pack."
I want to scream at him, ask why he's playing stupid. "The Phoenix pack. Wolf Ridge. Your old pack."
"That never was my pack." His lips barely move.
"Please," I scoff. "Tell your mom that. She misses you, by the way. Still works in the factory-I see her every week."
His eyes narrow. "I talk to her twice a week."
Okay, maybe that was a low blow, insinuating that he abandoned his mom.
"You know, I'm surprised your father lets you descend from on high to mingle with the commoners." He prowls around me, and I fight the urge to turn, face him, keep from giving him my back. He's the biggest predator in the room and my wolf knows it. She shouldn't be so aroused. A little more arousal in my scent and Trey and anyone who walks in this room will know how I really feel. My wolf wants to climb him like a tall, tattooed tree.
Down girl!
"I'm not a pack princess."
"Could've fooled me. What did they make you when you graduated college? CEO?"
"I'm a VP of Finance." I cross my arms over my chest. "But I earned it."
Trey scoffs.
"No really, I did. I interned every summer. By the time I graduated with my MBA, I had worked in every area of the company."
"Every area?" Despite himself, he sounds impressed.
"Yep. Factory floor, janitor. I even did a summer in marketing at our sponsored and outdoor events. When we were short on staff, I helped out wherever-waitressing, even behind the bar."
"You slung drinks." Treys' voice is dry, disbelieving.
"Yep. "
"Good, we need a bartender who can make change. Wednesday night, 7 p. m. Wear a skirt." He sneers at my outfit. "But lose the jacket."
"Aren't you listening? You can't run fights here anymore. You're attracting attention."
"Then you're not paying attention, sweetheart." Trey crowds me, and heat fills my body. I stare up at him. Every nerve's clanging like a fire alarm. Evacuate now! "There's no way in hell I'm going to let you shut me down."
He leans forward, eyes on mine. Angling his head, he takes a good long sniff. "Vanilla and orange," he purrs in his deep voice, and arousal pools between my legs. "Very nice."
"It's the flavor of our new line of seasonal brews," I parrot my company's marketing spiel. "Wheat beers. Very popular." My brain is on autopilot, all available neurons diverted to keeping me from grabbing Trey's bulging biceps with both hands, and rubbing against him like a cat.
"Whatever it is, I like it. You smell good enough to eat." His eyes are glinting silver, his wolf peering out at me. Not good.
I slam my heel down on his foot. Hard enough to send my pointy heel through the thick boot leather.
"Ow," he shouts, jumping back. "What the hell?"
"Darn it," I hiss, lifting my leg. My heel is broken. I point to his boots. "Are those steel toes?"
"Factory regulation." His lip curls again. God, is he ever going to look at me with anything but contempt? "You know us Robsons. No sense wasting a college education on us. We work the floor."
"Stop it," I snap, no longer upset about my shoe. I hate it when he implies he's not smart enough. "You have a brain, Trey. I told you that years ago. You just choose not to use it." I hike up my skirt and prop my foot on the desk, baring my leg right in front of him.
"What are you doing?" Trey chokes out.
A tendril of satisfaction snakes up my throat. I may have lost a heel, but I'm regaining my footing. "Taking off my shoes." I slide my fingers up my thigh to unsnap my garters. "But first, I have to take off my stockings. Don't want them to get dirty."
Trey's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He licks his lips, staring at my legs. "You can't go out there in bare feet."
"I'm a tough she-wolf," I shoot back, skimming the stocking down my calf. I may take a second or two longer than absolutely necessary, but the stunned look on Trey's face is worth it. "Watch me."
Trey
FOR A SECOND, I do. I watch the show, and fates help me, I love it. Sheridan's slim fingers peel down the stocking, revealing a perfect leg. She removes one, then the other, balls them up and stuffs them into the toe of the broken shoe, straightening to shoot me a triumphant glance. "If you're not willing to discuss things like a reasonable person, this conversation is over." Barefoot, she pivots to leave. No fucking way is she walking barefoot across the club-my club-the floor covered in broken glass and dirt and fuck knows what.
Hips swaying, she takes one step out the door.
"Not so fast." I grab her around the waist and hoist her easily over my shoulder. She struggles, shouting, legs kicking helplessly as I secure her in a fireman's hold.