A Player's Agenda

"How long are we going to pretend that we don't want each other?"

The question should have embarrassed her, instead the voice intrigued her. She'd heard him speak before. Only once, about a month ago, did he direct a simple hello to her.

"Mariah?" His hands moved down her shoulders, arm, and elbow, then his fingers curved slowly around the small of her waist. "How long?" His voice was deep and rugged.

"W-what are you talking about?"

He grinned. "I don't want to pretend any longer, Mariah."

She loved the way her name sounded coming off his tongue like a melody. It melted her insides like ice on the summer solstice. "I don't understand what you are talking about."

His hand was almost big enough to wrap around her entire waist. "This." When he gripped her tighter against his pelvis, she swallowed a small cry of shock. The hard rod that pressed against her abs was a clear indication of exactly what he was talking about.

He leaned down and spoke against her ear, causing goose bumps to rise on her exposed skin. "You are quite a little vixen, aren't you? Do you deliberately dress in tight jeans and fitted little dresses to get attention? Do your hips move on their own accord like a gypsy? How many times are you going to bend down in front of me pretending to pick up the same pen over and over again?"

Utter shock ran through her. She hadn't been aware that she drew attention to herself like that. She didn't wear baggy jeans, because she felt uncomfortable in them. She wore sundresses sometimes because some of the classrooms were extremely hot and muggy. She didn't pay attention to the way she walked much. And some of the desks were extremely old with tilted desktops that caused her pens to roll off during the lectures.

"I wasn't trying to draw attention."

He walked forward causing her to move back until her spine was flat against the wall. "You don't want this?"