Olivia’s POV
"Why the hell do you keep staring at me like that!" I yelled out in frustration.
Maxwell scoffed, relaxing further into his seat with annoying casualness. "How did you see me staring if you weren’t staring at me yourself?"
"That’s... that’s not..." I sputtered, heat flooding my face. "Stop doing that!"
"Stop doing what?"
"Stop accusing me like you’re all innocent and weren’t just doing exactly what you were doing!"
His eyebrow rose. "And what exactly was I doing?"
"Everything!" I threw my hands up. "You probably planned this whole thing - getting me angry so you could ’calm me down’ with a kiss. I’ve seen that move in movies. Now you’re acting like you weren’t just staring at me like... like..."
I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t put into words the way he’d been looking at me - like he wanted to strip me bare and learn every secret my body held.
He turned toward me fully now, shifting in his seat to face me directly. There was this... this weird gleam in his eyes that made my pulse race.
"Oh really?" he asked, his tone filled with fascination. "Tell me more about these movies."
Before I could respond, the driver’s voice came through from the front seat. "Mr. Wellington, we’ve arrived back at the restaurant."
"Park and leave the car," Maxwell said without looking away from me. "I’m very interested in this conversation with Miss Hopton."
My eyes widened. "What? No, we should just..."
But the driver was already pulling into a spot and getting out, closing the door behind him without a word.
Now it was just the two of us. Alone. In the backseat of his car. After we’d just... after what we’d...
Maxwell leaned forward slightly, that smirk still playing at his lips. "Please, humor me. I haven’t seen these movies you’re talking about. Walk me through this diabolical plan I apparently executed."
Oh God. The way he was looking at me, the amusement in his voice - I suddenly realized how ridiculous I sounded. Like some overconfident beauty queen convinced that Maxwell Wellington would actually stoop so low just to kiss me.
Embarrassment washed over me, mixed with shame and humiliation. I turned away, facing the window, my face burning. "Nevermind. I can’t remember which movies anyway."
I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape this mortifying situation. "Let’s just forget everything and go in for the meeting..."
His hand shot out and caught my wrist, stopping me. "No."
I turned back to him, my heart hammering. "What?"
"You don’t just get to leave after accusing me so dramatically. That’s not how this works."
"Let go..."
"I find it funny," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "that you think I’d play childish games just for a kiss." He paused, his eyes locked on mine. "Why would I even want to kiss you in the first place?"
The words hit like a slap. I stared at him in shock, my mouth falling open. "Are you serious right now?"
"Completely serious. I’ll not have you thinking that someone like you can ever have a chance with me."
I blinked.
"You just kissed me!" My voice rose up in anger. "Moments ago! Without my permission! What would you call that?"
"A method of de-escalation," he replied . "And why are you acting so innocent when you kissed me back? Quite passionately, if I recall correctly."
"I was caught off guard!" I nearly screamed. "Plus it wasn’t even that great, so stop making it a big deal."
Gosh. Does he normally do this? Kiss someone, then claim he didn’t act first?
"Being caught off guard is not an excuse, Olivia." He leaned closer, his eyes filled with challenge. "Also, you obviously enjoyed that kiss. You can lie to yourself all you want, but your body doesn’t lie."
"You’re insane..."
"You enjoyed it," he repeated, "the way you gripped my hair, the sounds you made, the way you arched into my touch - you can admit it, Olivia. I won’t bite."
Heat pooled low in my belly at his words. I hated that he was right - hated that my body had betrayed me so completely.
"You’re beyond crazy," I said, trying to inject conviction into my voice. "You’re not my type and you never will be."
"Not your type?" He looked completely amused now. "Then why are you breathing so fast right now? Why is your pulse racing?" His eyes dropped to my chest. "Why are your..."
"Stop it!" I covered my chest with my arms, mortified that he’d noticed.
Without warning, his hand came up to my neck. He traced his fingers along the column of my throat slowly, leaving trails of fire. Then down, skimming over my collarbone, along my bare arm.
I shivered under his touch.
I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop the involuntary reaction my body had to his fingers on my skin. Every nerve ending lit up, screaming for more contact, more touch, more him.
Maxwell smiled - like a cat who’d just caught a troublesome mouse. "Not your type," he repeated, his voice filled with amusement. "Right."
Then he pulled his hand away, opened his door, and got out of the car, leaving me sitting there trembling and furious and mortified.
That bastard.
I took a moment to compose myself, trying to regulate my breathing, trying to cool the heat burning through my body. My skin was still tingling where he’d touched me, and I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.
How dare he? How dare he touch me like that and then just... leave? Like he’d proven some point? Like he’d won some game I didn’t even know we were playing?
I got out of the car with as much dignity as I could muster - which wasn’t much, considering my dress had ridden up again and my hair was still messed up - and followed him toward the restaurant entrance.
Maxwell was waiting by the door, "Come on. Let’s get this over with."
"I hate you," I muttered as I walked past him.
He was right behind me, "The feeling is mutual."