Olivia’s POV
"Why the hell do you keep staring at like that!" I yelled out in frustration.
Maxwell scoffed, relaxing further into his seat with annoying casualness. "How did you see staring if you weren’t staring at yourself?"
"That’s... that’s not..." I sputtered, heat flooding my face. "Stop doing that!"
"Stop doing what?"
"Stop accusing 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 angry so you could ’calm down’ with a kiss. I’ve seen that move in movies. Now you’re acting like you weren’t just staring at like... like..."
I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t put into words the way he’d been looking at - like he wanted to strip bare and learn every secret my body held.
He turned toward fully now, shifting in his seat to face 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 more about these movies."
Before I could respond, the driver’s voice ca 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 . "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 . I haven’t seen these movies you’re talking about. Walk through this diabolical plan I apparently executed."
Oh God. The way he was looking at , the amusent in his voice - I suddenly realized how ridiculous I sounded. Like so overconfident beauty queen convinced that Maxwell Wellington would actually stoop so low just to kiss .
Embarrassnt washed over , mixed with sha and humiliation. I turned away, facing the window, my face burning. "Nevermind. I can’t rember 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 eting..."
His hand shot out and caught my wrist, stopping . "No."
I turned back to him, my heart hamring. "What?"
"You don’t just get to leave after accusing 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 gas 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 soone like you can ever have a chance with ."
I blinked.
"You just kissed !" My voice rose up in anger. "Monts ago! Without my permission! What would you call that?"
"A thod of de-escalation," he replied . "And why are you acting so innocent when you kissed back? Quite passionately, if I recall correctly."
"I was caught off guard!" I nearly scread. "Plus it wasn’t even that great, so stop making it a big deal."
Gosh. Does he normally do this? Kiss soone, 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 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 ca 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 troubleso mouse. "Not your type," he repeated, his voice filled with amusent. "Right."
Then he pulled his hand away, opened his door, and got out of the car, leaving sitting there trembling and furious and mortified.
That bastard.
I took a mont 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 , and I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.
How dare he? How dare he touch like that and then just... leave? Like he’d proven so point? Like he’d won so ga 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 ssed up - and followed him toward the restaurant entrance.
Maxwell was waiting by the door, "Co on. Let’s get this over with."
"I hate you," I muttered as I walked past him.
He was right behind , "The feeling is mutual."
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