Damon’s staring at me with that look.
It’s not just the hunger in his gaze that has my breath hitching—it’s what’s hiding beneath it, the thing that looks a whole lot like jealousy.
He shifts in his seat, leaning closer. My back instinctively presses against the car door.
“Stay back,” I say, breathless.
He bridges the gap further, his knee brushing mine. “Or what?”
“Why do you always try to confuse me when I’m making a sound argument?”
His hand lifts, and he settles his thumb on the curve of my bottom lip.
“A sound argument? You think sleeping with a man just to spite me is a sound argument?”
“Who said anything about spiting you?” I shoot back. “You really need to downsize your ego. Not everything is about you, Damon.”
“But it is about me, Claire.”
“I can assure you, it isn't.”
