Page 13 of Tempt

“I have just one other caveat,” he said, pulling his hand away.

It actually hurt to have him leave me. I liked it when he touched me. Maybe I liked it too much.

“And what’s that?”

“We do this at my flat. As I mentioned before, I’ve had some security issues…”

Whatever made him happy, that’s what we’d do. I didn’t care where we had sex, as long as we had it. “That’s fine, as long as you can guarantee I’m not being recorded or some other kinky shit I’m gonna find online five years from now.”

He actually made a face at me, which I appreciated. There was no mistaking how he felt about men who secretly filmed sex. “I can guarantee that won’t be a problem. I’ll even put it in writing if you prefer.”

I shook my head very slowly, eyes locked onto his. “I trust you.”

He took another step back. “Well then, it seems we have an arrangement. Let’s get this meeting over with so I can take you to my bed.”

I hid the shudder that raced down my spine and buried itself square between my legs. The throb was growing more insistent by the moment, begging to be given attention. “We can always talk there.”

“No.” He took my hand and helped me stand. “Talk here, fuck there. Let’s keep business and pleasure separate.”

“Fine, have it your way.” I shrugged and bent over the conference table to show off my very fine ass. “Let’s get down to business.”

Chapter 6

“We have to reroute,” the driver said.

Theo sighed like this wasn’t unusual. Like he was sick of it. “Fine.” Then he reached over and caressed my knee. “It will take us a few extra minutes to get to my flat. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. This isn’t your fault.”

His jaw ticked. Whatever his security woes were, they were clearly taking their toll on him. He needed a distraction.

“Do you like music? I love music.”

His fingers tightened on my knee. “Yes, you could say that.”

Oh, that sounded like there was a story hidden in there. “Tell me.”

He chuckled, his whole face softening again. That twinkle was back in his eyes. “I love music. All of it. I have a music room, actually.”

“Oh really?” I sat a little straighter and turned to face him better. “And what do you keep in your music room?”

“Besides the best stereo system money can buy? About a thousand records.”

I loved old records. The scratches and variations—the direct connection to the roots of rock when it was so new and innovative. Of course none of this should be surprising for two people who met swing dancing in a speakeasy. “Do you play?” I couldn’t help examining his hands, looking for signs of use.

“Yeah, a little,” he nodded.

I turned over his hand and saw the telltale signs of a guitar player. Callouses marked his fingers. “Looks like a lot…”

He shrugged, but didn’t pull away when I ran my fingers over each callous. “It really just depends on work.”

Ah, work again. From the strain in his voice I got the feeling that work was a mix of pain and joy. His phone buzzed and he stared at it for several seconds.

“You can take that. It won’t offend me.”

He threw me a strained glance before answering the call. “What?”

Oh, that didn’t sound good. That was the angry Theo everyone warned me about.

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