Page 14 of Start With A Slap

“Don’t insult me. I’m not interested in taking you by force.” He took her glass, swallowed a mouthful of it and gave it back to her. “‘less you say ‘please’.”

“Thank goodness I hate being polite,” she said, and refused to drink what he’d put his lips on. He could pour her another. While she watched.

CHAPTER 5

Made to Order

Sever must have had a thing for lower backs.

He wouldn’t stop touching hers. When they posed for photos, when he introduced her, when they pondered a work of art... each time his hand magnetized to the inward curve of her spine and rested comfortably on the swell beneath it.

This might have been tolerable, if it weren’t for the fact that the naked spot he was groping was a long-established, super-effective erogenous zone of hers. She involuntarily quivered and arched and got goosebumpy whenever anyone touched her there, but when that anyone was the star of her nocturnal emissions, it was torture.

She could tell him to stop, but that would give her away. She could insist that he not touch her at all, but she didn’t want anyone to overhear: they were surrounded by press and murmuring oglers. At first she thought her totally inappropriate butt-cleavage was causing the ruckus, but it turned out to be Sever’s mere presence. She caught his name in whispers, saw double takes; the photographers were frothing. Even people he seemed friendly with were shocked to see him there. Hersuspicions were confirmed: it wasn’t the event that he needed a date for, it was their ‘date’ that needed the event.

To add to her chagrin, Sever broke his ‘paps will know she’s yours’ promise to Jason, and failed to mention the nature of their relationship at each introduction. Ivy had to take it upon herself to work it in whenever she was asked how they met, or what miracle she’d performed to get him to slum it with the art crowd tonight. To those questions, she replied, “I married his son.”

The latest inquirer looked at him, perplexed. “You have a son?”

Ivy was past the initial shock of hearing that response. “For twenty-six years now.”

“Come, petal,” Sever said, surreptitiously rubbing his thumb on the small of her back.Shiver-arch-goosebumps.“Auction dinner’s starting.”

They were seated up front, just the two of them at a huge, round table. Sever had purchased all ten plates.

“So you want people to get the wrong idea about us,” she surmised.

“‘People’s ideas’ are irrelevant to me.” He shook out his napkin. “I want you to myself.”

She sighed in frustration. “Why?”

“I’ll tell you why if you answer me with the truth.” He leaned toward her. “What do you want, more than anything?”

What was that supposed to prove? “Nothing. You to leave me alone. How’s that for truth?”

He shook his head and focused on his salad. “It’s not.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you read minds,” she said, though that had been established.

“I readpeople. Built a multibillion-dollar empire on that talent alone.”

“Well, you’re reading me wrong,” she said.

He wagged a forkful of radicchio at her. “I’m really looking forward to hearing you take that back.” He chewed, swallowed. “You screaming yes yes, head lashing on the pillow... Or the table. Or the back seat of my car, I haven’t decided.”

She massaged her temples. She couldn’t do anything to stop her brain from imagining the two of them in the backseat of his car, or her body from experiencing a shudder of sensation, but thankfully her mouth was still rational. “You have to give this up. I’m in love with yourson, I’m perfectly content, and I don’t need anything else.” Wait, which table was he referring to?Thistable? “And I’m NOT going to give you what you need. So move on.”

“No,” he said simply.

Why did rich people feel so entitled to whatever they fancied? She tried a different tack. “He may not admit it, but Jason is over the moon with the thought that you might care about him after all. He would becrushedif he knew you were only faking it to hit on his wife.”

“He’s a grown man. Shouldn’t matter to him what I think.”

“What exactly is your problem with him? Do you even know how well he’s doing?”

“I know he’s squandering his trust fund while he barely makes a cent on his own.”

Hewouldthink that Jason’s perfectly adequate cost-of-living salary was barely a cent. “He fights for exploited workers! If that’s not a quality to be proud of, I don’t know what is.”

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