He rose from his chair and took a step toward me. “Wasn’t your type?”

Wasn’t you.

Compelled by some instinct I’d never had to use with him, I took a wary step back.

He cocked his head curiously, like my retreat made no sense. “You like this new guy?”

I shook my head no before I even realized I was doing it.

His lips curved up as he took another step toward me. “No? Then why are you going out with him?”

The only reason I ever went out with men—to try and distract myself from him.

I couldn’t say that, of course. “I don’t know,” I murmured nervously, dropping his gaze. “He asked. He seemed nice.”

“He asked. He seemed nice,” he echoed, a touch mockingly. “Is that all it takes, Georgia? For a man to ask?”

His tone was crude, and not in a playful way. It was so unlike him, and I didn’t understand why he was acting that way.

My heart was pounding by that point. He was closing in on me, and I was so confused. Trying to put back some of the formality between us, I said, “Mr. Holden, I think maybe you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Have I?” he murmured.

I gasped when I felt his hands on my thighs, underneath my skirt. Arousal struck swiftly and worsened when he roughly bunched up the material and positioned his muscular thigh between them.

It was exquisite torture. I couldn’t breathe. I’d imagined his hands on me a million times, but I couldn’t actually let him touch me.

I reached for his hands to push them away. “Mr. Holden, please.”

“It’s Mr. Holden now, is it?” he asked, his grip on my thighs tightening insistently.

A breath rushed out of me as he pushed me back against the wall, forcing himself into the space between my thighs.

“You usually call me Lee,” he murmured, his face so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my jaw as he spoke.

That wasn’t all I could feel. His hardness was pressed against the thin fabric of my panties, all but demanding the material disintegrate so he could lose himself in my wet heat.

“Stop,” I whispered, holding on to his wrists and desperately searching his gaze. “You’ve had way too much to drink.”

“So?” he murmured, butting his erection against my pussy. “Are you telling me you don’t want it?”

“I—no. Yes.” I shook my head, mixed up. “I don’t want it.”

“Little liar,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone as his scruff grazed my jaw line.

I can’t want it.

That was closer to the truth.

“You’re married,” I reminded him, since that was the real reason it couldn’t happen. “Lee, please.”

“She hates you, you know?”