Page 63 of Wild Blades

“That was for PETA. You know, the animal rights organization? I launched their first ever campaign. It’s a bit egotistical to have it in the house, I know.”

“It’s not egotistical,” he mutters, as if in a daze.

“I put it there so that in thirty years’ time I can look at it and remind myself where my ass and boobs once sat.”

“Right.”

Oh God, I think his brain has stopped working. I mean, it’s a bit odd that I have that in my house now I come to think about it. But it’s art, and I love it and it was for a worthy cause.

“I’ll take those.” I reach for my bags, getting slightly annoyed with his one-word answers.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, sorry.” He turns his attention back to me, handing the bags over, and I place them behind me on the floor. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, but I’m not sure what for.

For staring too long?

For enjoying the photo?

For liking what he sees?

For making me come?

I want to ask him but hold my tongue.

“Thank you for today. For… everything.” I pause, hoping he gets the meaning behind my words, but then I panic and add, “I like my new sneakers.” I hold my foot up and check them out.

“I have the same ones.”

“We should wear them together one day.” I snort a laugh, then cover my mouth. “Sorry.”How unrefined.

“Then people would think we’re together if we dress the same.” His tone is flat and emotionless.

My laughter dies in the air.

What I would do right now for the polished concrete flooring beneath my feet to crumble and swallow me whole. “Yeah, dumb idea. I’ll call your hotel and pay for the clothes and beauty products you had brought to the room.”

“No need.”

“I insist.”

“Consider them gifts and you can pick up the beauty products and your dress the next time you visit my hotel, or I can have Lola drop them off.”

“Thank you.” I’m not going to argue with him, but I will call reception and pay for it all. He’s not buying any of it for me.

“So…” I push my hands into the back pockets of my jeans to stop me from grabbing him and kissing the hell out of his beautiful mouth.

Biting his lip, I can’t work out what he’s thinking as the lines across his forehead grow.

There’s a moment when he leans forward as if he’s about to step over the threshold and I don’t mean into my home, I feel like if he entered my house, we would both be crossing a barrier we could never climb back over. Although we sort of already did that tonight.

“Have a good night.” Tapping the doorjamb twice, he turns and bolts down the stairs.

Shit. I knew he was regretting what we did. And now I feel all kinds of stupid for letting him touch me rather than putting a stop to it.

Captivated, I watch him walking toward his truck. Strong shoulders, great hair, his toes pointing out slightly, making the perfectVformation. He struts as if he’s already a model.

“Wade,” I call out to him, stopping him in his tracks.

When he turns back, I ask the question that’s been bugging me all day. “Did I remove my own makeup last night?”

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