Page 57 of Someone to Have
The words fall out of my mouth before I can pull them back.
His mouth opens and shuts several times, and I have to admit I’m a little proud of myself—I might be the first person who’s ever rendered this man speechless.
“Why?” he eventually asks, his voice rough.
I don’t expect the touch of vulnerability in his tone and wonder how much my assumptions about this man have made me underestimate him. For all of Eric’s confidence, there’s something tender but guarded just beneath the surface. Like he’s waiting for someone to call his bluff and expose his soft underbelly.
“Do you typically ask a womanwhyshe wants to have sex with you?” I gesture wildly in the vague direction of his body. “I’m fairly certain you own a mirror, so I think it would be obvious.”
It’s the way his shoulders fill out his shirt, stretching the fabric like it’s got its work cut out for it. His fingers grip his fork with an effortless strength that lead me to believe he could bend the metal in half if he wanted to. The same fingers that were so gentle when he touched me last night. His jaw is dusted with just the right amount of scruff, and don’t get me started on those bitter chocolate eyes. I swear I can feel the warmth of them on my skin even when his back is turned.
“Nothing with you is obvious, Tinkerbell. Believe it or not, most women don’t proposition me from across the table at a busy restaurant with cheese sticking to their chin.”
Mortification stabs at my gut. “Oh, crap.” I wipe the napkin across my face. “I’m not most women.”
“Tell me about it.” He chuckles, and I squeeze the napkin hard between my fingers as the sound reverberates through me.
“For your information, I do have a particular reason.”
He leans forward, his gaze fixed on mine. “Can’t wait to hear it.”
“My boss brought a couple of board members to story timethis morning, even though he knows I struggle in front of adults. He did it on purpose.”
Eric’s brows draw together. “What type of purpose?”
“I told you he’s retiring in a couple of months. I didn’t mention he has his heir apparent picked out already. But no one on staff likes his candidate. I’ve told them I’m not interested, but like you, they want me to apply. My best guess is he intended the VIPs to watch me fail.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter, but the tightness in my chest says otherwise.
“Fuck him. You’re perfect.”
My breath catches at the simplicity of his statement, like it’s obvious. Not to me.
“Perfect is a stretch, but after what happened between us last night, I was super relaxed this morning. Cooked-pasta-noodle relaxed.”
He reaches around and pats himself on the back. His grin is cocky as hell, but I don’t mind. I’ve come to realize his smug arrogance is a way to deflect attention from the deeper parts he doesn’t want people to see. Only he’s let me in on them, and that means something.
I incline my head. “If one little orgasm helped me that much, imagine what more could do. What sex could do.”
He gapes at me like he can’t believe I’m actually propositioning him for sex. That makes two of us. But it’s more than the liquid courage. I want this, and I’m proud of myself for going after something I want.
The waitress comes to clear our plates, and Eric hands her his credit card at the same time. The background noise of the restaurant fades as my focus is trained on him and his answer.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You want to use my skill at getting you off to manage your anxiety?”
“It sounds kind of gross when you say it like that, but yeah, pretty much.”
“Pretty much,” he repeats quietly.
“You’re my coach, right? Part of why I get so tongue-tied with Bryan is that I think about going out with him, things escalating, and then I freak out. If you could desensitize me…”
“Desensitize you?” He arches an eyebrow.
“It’s not that big of an ask.” Humiliation is beginning to creep up the base of my spine. I didn’t actually consider there being a chance he’d say no. “I’m sure you’ve had sex with less of a connection.”
His expression hardens long enough to make me think I hit a nerve.
“You want to use me for my body.” His voice drops lower, a whisper of malice threaded through the humor.
“I want to use you for what you can do for my body,” I counter. “There’s a difference.”
