Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i am reading a book TXT) 📗

back to the stage, where Devon has started a soul-stirring jazz ballade. His eyes are lost on the horizon, and his jaw is set in a frown.

I lift my glass and empty the last drops of my drink.

I’ll need all the giddy I can get if I’m to keep Devon busy and away from his sister and his friend.

Chapter 28

(Laia)

The song comes to an end, and Devon is greeted with a round of applause.

I join in as well, utterly surprised that my palms make such vivid noise. I never noticed I have such a talent.

Maybe if my job for Devon falls through, and I can’t publish my romance novel, I should try casting for some talk show. My particular skill might be appreciated in the audience of Oprah, for example.

Yeah, I could even become the clapping champion of—

“Laia?”

Huh, Devon’s mic is truly terrific. It sounded almost as if he were standing next to me.

“Laia?”

This time Devon’s hand taps gently on my shoulder. Two of his fingers land on the bare skin of my neck, making me sizzle at his touch.

My eyes dart to his, and a wide grin spreads on my face. “You were just…wow, Devon. Like wow, wow…”

I sound like a total moron, and I see that my lack of proper vocabulary is as puzzling to him as it is to me.

Or maybe more to him.

I actually find it mildly funny. Why do I need to use sophisticated expressions and elaborate metaphors? A ‘wow, wow’ is just as good, right?

One of his brows lifts as he eyes the cocktail glasses on the counter. “Have you been drinking? And where is my sister?”

“Huhu!” I raise my hands in protest. “Is this a firing-squad or what? Too many questions at once.”

Devon’s cherry-colored mouth twitches, hinting at a smile.

Though perhaps raspberry would be a better fruit for his lips’ color. Cherries can be too dark, and Devon’s flesh is…

I bend closer to him, letting my gaze linger on his mouth.

Yes, definitely raspberry.

The sweet and ripe kind, not the ones my mother used to buy from Señor Gonzales—

“Are you drunk?”

Devon’s lips move, and I realize how close I am as his breath tickles my nose.

“Of course not,” I jerk back and straighten my spine to prove my point. I even jump up from my seat for emphasis.

Despite a slight sway, I manage to stand straight in front of him.

Like I wanted to demonstrate, I’m perfectly sober.

Devon sighs, but the corners of his mouth curve up. “You’re not used to alcohol or going out. It shows. You should have stuck with the sparkling water I ordered.”

Isn’t he a reputed party king? Why is he so shocked that I had one or two little bubblies?

I pick up a glass from the counter. “It’s just some yumminess your sister picked out for us. It’s so delicious that even Pete wanted to taste it. Want me to order you one?”

His face becomes serious, and he shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. Thanks. Where is Pete?”

He puts a weird emphasis on his buddy’s name, but I ignore it, together with his question.

I’m busy thinking about how I could cheer Devon up.

We need to bide our time before his sister and friend return, and that won’t happen for a while, judging by Ellie’s secretive behavior. I can’t spend the whole evening walking on eggshells around Devon.

I blink at my drink as if it can give me an answer and notice there’s still a strawberry sitting on a bit of pinkish delight in the bottom of my glass.

This might just be enough.

I press closer to Devon.

He doesn’t retreat, but his eyes widen. “What are you doing?” he asks, somewhat alarmed.

“You really have to taste this. It’s sooo good. Come on, just a teenie-tiny sip.” I hold up my glass to him and lick my lips as if to demonstrate how amazing the flavor is.

Devon’s gaze travels to my mouth, and his pupils dilate. His blue irises become two thin circles around the giant black holes as they expand.

“Fine. Give me the strawberry.” His voice is challenging with a smooth, almost seductive edge.

Like in the elevator, only this time I’m not intimidated or flustered by it. I suspect it’s probably the courage of the two Bellinis that makes me act so cocky, but I reach for the fruit and lift it from the glass.

“You wanted this?” I wiggle my brows.

Devon stares at me and slowly, oh-so-very-slowly, nods.

My last grain of rationality desperately shouts that I’m playing with fire. Still, its warning is inaudible due to the loud, unruly voice urging me to reach out and caress Devon’s cheeks to see whether the stubble sprouting on his jawline is soft or tickly.

“All you need to say is please, and it’s all yours,” I tease.

Devon’s gaze holds mine. “Please.”

This single word triggers a cascade of warmth in my belly. To distract myself from the sensation, I try to recall which bucket list items I’m currently conquering.

But his eyes are blazing enough to fry my brain, and my neurons can’t ponder anything other than the depth of his blue irises.

Laia, you said A, now comes B…

I guide the strawberry to him, and when his mouth opens to take hold of it, my thumb brushes against his lower lip.

I think I hear his breath hitch, but I could be mistaking my own ragged inhale for his.

The brief contact makes a flicker of reason return in my deserted mind. I take a step back and place my glass on the counter.

“So, your verdict?” I ask, trying for a voice that’s calm but comes out husky.

Devon chews on the strawberry and after swallowing gives me an enigmatic smile. “You were right. It would have been a pity not to try this.”

Devon’s cell chimes. He takes it from his pocket and peeks at it.

And so do I.

A calendar reminder flashes on his screen. “Cora Tuesday night!!!”

I’m surprised I can read the upside down script through my slightly blurred vision.

Devon swipes the note to silence the alarm and blinks up at me. “I’m sorry for this interruption. What were