Then I decide to push just a little further. Because if nothing else, this situation between us is a power struggle, and I’m not afraid to take my power where I can find it. If he thought he was squaring off against some timid little girl, he thought wrong. “Does it involve bending me over this table—” “Tabitha,” he cuts me off, voice hoarse. But I don’t miss the way his eyes flit to the table, his fist clenching around the strap of his bag. I blink innocently. “What?”
