Eli King had been infuriated with her since university. No, infatuated. No—both. From the moment she walked into his life, all teasing smiles and effortless charm, she had been the single most frustrating presence he’d ever encountered. And he hated losing.

Which is why he refused to let this be one.

"You're not my type, Eli," she said smoothly, arms crossed, amusement flickering in her eyes like she enjoyed toying with him.

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head. "Is this the part where I get on my knees and beg?"

She smirked. "I'm afraid that won't cut it."

He dragged a hand down his face, pretending to consider. "What if I send flowers and a box of chocolate?"

"Unoriginal. Try harder."

His jaw ticked, but the corner of his mouth lifted. "If I cry into my pillow?"

"Tempting, but no."

His grin was slow, dangerous. "You're really making me work for this, huh?"

"Wouldn't want you to get bored, King," she teased.

His fingers twitched with the urge to pull her in, to make her understand—this wasn’t a game for him. This was years of sleepless nights, of stolen glances, of wanting her in ways he wasn’t built to want anything.

And she thought he’d give up?

Not a chance in hell.