The Manhattan Encounter. Addison Fox

watching the woman run her hands over the rather large and imposing chest of a man she clearly had feelings for.

      Damn it all to hell and back.

      A few other choice expletives floated through her mind in rapid succession at, once again, being caught out of her depth. “How lovely for her.”

      “Quite.”

      She took a sip of the soft drink he’d brought her and willed the mortification to fade as quickly as possible. The cold slide of sugar coated her parched throat and while it couldn’t quite beat the heat of embarrassment flushing up her neck, it did make her feel a bit better.

      “I don’t think you’re pitiful, Isabella.”

      “Thank you.”

      “And for the record?” A small smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, those blue irises twinkling. “I sure as hell don’t think you’re pliable, either.”