Sleeping With the Enemy

[FREE PREVIEW] - Sequel: Chapter Eight

Gemma

Thursday was a treacherously hot day in New York.

Josie, Ryan and I sat on lounge chairs, trying to enjoy the weather, but it was proving to be nearly impossible. Not even the pool was providing any relief from the unrelenting sun, and I was about ready to call it a day and head inside. It was humid and muggy, and the air felt suffocating.

To be honest, I wasn't sure if the air was suffocating because of the weather or because of the gripping tension between me and Anthony. I was fuming as I watched him across the pool, perched underneath an umbrella, laid back listening to something on his AirPods without a care in the world.

How dare he? How dare he sit there so relaxed and cool? Was his stomach not in tangled knots the way mine was? Did I imagine all of that genuine smile on his face as we hung out that night? Was he really that insensitive? Here I was, still reeling from the embarrassment of the other night, and Anthony was walking around like nothing ever even happened.

After luring me away from Ben, Anthony took me to dinner, and we were having a great time. We were talking and getting to know each other and actually enjoying each other's company, if you can believe that. But that's when things took an interesting turn.

He didn't kiss me, but he might as well have. The way his tongue flicked against my hand still sent a wave of butterflies through my core. His touch, the heat of our bodies, that sexy tone of voice he spoke to me in. It was all coming together. His eyes held mine in a vice grip, that sensual stare basically screaming that he wanted to take me to bed.

Or at least that was what I thought.

Anthony shut it down faster than it began, and for the last three days, we both avoided each other. Well, as best as you can, avoid each other when you're ordered to be attached at the hip.

I could hardly bear to face him after that. I was embarrassed and vulnerable and apparently misread the entire situation. Anthony wanted nothing to do with me, and if his reaction at the bar didn't tell me that, his behavior the last few days certainly did. He barely said two words to me, and was keeping his distance like I had the plague. He was giving me space, but all the space did was make me more and more irate. Didn't I at least deserve some kind of explanation? He was the one who initiated it. He convinced me to leave Ben. He took my hand and licked the salt off of it. It was him.

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