Page 23 of Stags

“No, I think I like them too much.” She turned away from him, embarrassed, wishing she hadn’t felt so free to speak. She sucked down some of her drink through her straw.

“If that’s meant to discourage me, you should know, it doesn’t.” His voice was careful now, though, and she realized it was because he’d read her body language.

She jerked her head up to look at him. “I… could you tell me something? It might sound sort of crazy.”

“I have to admit, I like crazy,” he said.

“Is there something about me, something, maybe the way I smell or some sense you get about me, when you’re close to me that…” She didn’t even finish the sentence. Suddenly, she could see how absolutely foolish she’d been all this time.

It wasn’t her.

It was them.

Well, it was a combination, perhaps, but between herself and the boys she’d interacted with, they were both young and inexperienced and lacking in confidence. And—of course—two people who had no confidence and who felt awkward created nothing but more awkwardness together.

“What?” he said, and he sounded gently amused.

“Never mind,” she breathed. She turned back to him. This man, this older man, who was beautiful and rugged and confident and capable of reading her signals and responding to them, she wanted him. She swallowed. “Are you, um, busy right now?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said.

“You…” Moon and sun, she could notsaythis. She looked into his eyes, and then she adjusted her gaze lower, and she asked his firm, hard jaw. “You want to fuck me?”

He let out a very noisy breath.

She cringed, but she was smiling. She was embarrassed, but she was lit up, too. She was powerful. She was pretty. She was desired. She met his gaze now. “I don’t know if I want… out there… in thefield, you know?”

“Right,” he said. “It can be a bit bracing, not the most comfortable of situations.”

“It’s why we’re here,” she whispered. “We have rooms, though, so…?”

He looked her up and down, scratching his jaw very slowly, and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart was pounding far too fast, and she began to think that she must fill this silence between them, must babble out something, must give him a way out of the conversation because she had been far too forward, and maybe therewassomething repellent about her. But then he was speaking, “Well, it’s the same as in the field, though, hmm, little doe? If you change your mind, you say so, no matter where we are or what’s happening. And I think we should go to my room so you can flee to safety, to your own room, to a sanctuary I’ve never entered, if necessary.”

She liked that, and she nodded. “Yes, that’s good.”

He held out his hand to her.

She took it and he helped her off the stool. Now, on her feet, looking up at him, she felt very small and he seemed to loom over her, quite tall, quite large, quite…

“I’m not dangerous,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

“Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t have picked you if I thought you were.”

“I have no idea why you chose me,” he said, lifting her hand to plant a kiss in the middle of her palm, a kiss that she felt all the way through her, that made her shiver, “but I’m lucky you did.”

They left the bar, and he guided her into the elevator, one massive hand resting on the small of her back and then gently against the curve of her hip. She leaned in and caught a whiff of the smell of his aftershave, and she liked it. It was spicy and male, and he was so coiffed and gentlemanly.

She waited to feel regret on the elevator, to feel a rush of worry that she was making a mistake. But she didn’t. She only felt giddy and alive and pleased.

She looked up at him and found him studying her, looking thoughtful.

“You’re regretting this,” she said, wincing.

“Oh, there is nothing like regret in me,” he said. “I’m debating whether I should ask how old you are.”

“I can tell you how old—”

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve decided it’s better not to know.”

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