Damn.Why did he have to turn the tables on me so quickly? This is dangerous. We’re close enough now it wouldn’t take much for him to kiss me. I wonder what that would be like. It’s been a long time since I let anyone kiss me. His breath is warm and smells a little earthy, sour, from his beer. When he drops his eyes to my lips, I can’t help but lick them, like simply tasting the air between us could satiate the aching heat inside me.
I shake my head, then pull back, forcing a smile. Something tells me a kiss from Joel would break me, and I can’t afford to fall apart. “As long as you know that your efforts sadly won’t end with you getting laid.”
He shrugs. “I don’t need to fuck theMona Lisato appreciate that it’s a masterpiece.”
My smile falters.Is this guy for real?
He reaches out slowly, fingers skimming the bottom of my fishnet dress. He raises his eyebrows, asking for permission, and I nod. He pulls it up and up and up, my heart racing in my chest as he tosses it down onto the seat next to us. Fingers digging into the flesh of my hips, he pulls me back down onto his lap, my core throbbing as it rubs against the bulge in his jeans. We’re close again, and I’m suddenly on edge. Why is this so intimate? How did this stranger come in and knock down all of my defenses so quickly?
“I’m not a work of art,” I say, and I hate that my voice trembles.
“Yes, you are.”
I shake my head. “I just won the genetic lottery, that’s all. Big tits and long legs don’t exactly equal art.”
“Then I don’t think you’re looking at yourself close enough.”
His eyes hold mine as he pulls on the thin strings of my bikini top.
“This is gorgeous,” he says, his calloused fingers tracing down my sides. My top falls to the floor and all that separates me from him now is my underwear. “But this,” he says, his hand trailing back to circle over my heart. “This is too.” My lips part and while I try to stop it, some of the ice that has crystalized around the organ melts at his words.
As I search his eyes, he gently taps the rhythm of my heart over my skin. “See?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest tightening, and shake my head. When I open them again I stare into his. I thought they were brown before, but they’re not. They’re amber—like dark honey in a pool of moss.
Beautiful. He’s beautiful.He’sthe art.
“Tell me something about you that’s true,” he whispers.
“My hair,” I say, all hesitation gone. “The red is real.”
“Knew it had to be,” he says, twirling a strand around his finger. “The way the light hits it. It’s like the sun.”
My heart is not prepared for this tonight.
“It’s funny,” he says, almost to himself. “My mom told me once that a redhead would steal my heart.” My brow furrows, but then he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close until his face is buried in my chest. He squeezes me gently and I feel the inhale he takes, his nose gently gliding up my sternum. As he moans, I’m shocked to find myself daydreaming about some impossible future together. Where he really is a world-famous rockstar and I’m his muse—his leading lady. How he’d be a generous and attentive lover, and we’d live in some twelve-bedroom mansion with a household staff, and I’d never have to work again.
Let me save you.
This is too much. Why am I thinking about this? My life is fine. I don’t need this man who’s only interested in one night of my time. He’s probably exactly like the one earlier, wanting to ride in on his white horse and save me. I don’tneedsaving. And I don’t need him. I just need his money. But the longer he touches me, the more we talk, the more I find myself desperate to take this somewhere I’ve never allowed myself to before.
I shake my head.
“I—you know, all this talking is really eating up your money.”
“I like talking,” he says, his palms moving over my ass. “It would be weird to do this silently.”
“Most guys don’t talk as much,” I counter.
“I’m not like most guys.”
No, he definitely is not.
“However,” he continues, looking up at me. “Talking is what is keeping me from breaking the rules.”
“Oh.”
Break them.God, how I want him to touch me in the one place he can’t.