Page 4 of Buy Me, Love
I feel like I need to apologize for not being down on my knees in front of him in a hotel room somewhere. I don’t understand what this man is doing to me. It’s…peculiar.
“What do I need to explain?” I say. “You’re the one acting out of theordinary.”
“You looked like you were having a little bit too much fun up there,” he says indignantly, rolling his shirt sleeves up. “And in case you forgot, we just met. How do you know this is out of the ordinary forme?”
Oh no. Oh no. My body tingles from the tips of my toes to the top of my head when he bares his forearms. Call me a sucker for a tall tattooed man in a suit. He looked good up close, he looked so good from far away too, and he looksah-mazingin-between. He’s tall and wide, with perfectly-tailored black pants and the crispest, most slim-fitting white shirt. He’s wearing a skinny black tie and his forearms are covered with fadedetchings.
Hoo-boy.
He looks like he’s preparing to get his hands dirty and doesn’t intend to stop until he’s elbows-deep.
“A girl isn’t allowed to have a little fun?” I put my nose in the air and turn my cheek to him again.Indignant.
“What about your article on purity balls? Our society’s obsession with virginity? The economics of dating in the mid-to-late twenty-first century?” Impatient, he puts his hands on his hips. “Huh?”
Color me the same stunned shade of red as my dress. This man reads academic sociology papers on top of everything else? Wait, has that paper been accepted without me knowing it, or is he on the review committee for the journal I submitted to? He doesn’t look like any professor I’ve evermet.
“It’s complicated,” I say, throwing my hands up. “And anyway, I’m a person. An individual. I affect the culture just like the culture affectsme.”
The v-word buzzes in my head. The way he said it makes me hot enough to consider giving itup.
“And your contribution to the world of academic literature is to…what, to sell yourself for adate?”
He’sright.
“You’rewrong, man. It’s just theideaof a date, which you’d know if you’d read the brochure.” I dig my hand into the pocket of his suit jacket, still hung over my shoulders, and pull out his car keys and four copies of the brochure. I shove three back in and flip one to the second page, marching toward him, shoving the glossy paper in his face. “Two supervised hours with Ms. Katherine Kensington to take place on the grounds of the Kensington Hotel. It’s for a good cause, and it’s hardly arealdate.”
He’s right. But I can’t help that this was my only option. I also can’t help what makes me alltingly.
And this controlling, argumentative man with the perfect jaw and smoldering eyes and tattoos is making me tingly. Verytingly.
“Whoareyou?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him as I walk backwards in my too-high heels. We’re beginning to make a scene. I stretch my arm out and put a corner of the brochure up between me and him in a pose ofaccusation.
I know I haven’t submitted that paper to any journalsyet.
His knees bend and he looks like he’s about to pounce. I’m getting annoyed and a little scarednow.
I think I might have a stalker on my hands. A dangerously beautiful, sexy stalker, but that doesn’t make itokay.
“Who are you?” I demand of him. “You have three seconds toreply.”
Three.Two.
I hit the button on his key fob and hear a car across the street beep. I dart toward the sidewalk and a luggage cart blocks him. I barely check for cross-town traffic before running over to his sexy white muscle car, swinging the door open, and slippinginside.
Okay. The last time I drove was when I took my driver’s ed class. I didn’t even bother to take the road test because growing up in Manhattan I didn’t need to drive. My father had a driver for me anyway, and I never thought I’d be behind the wheel of a motor vehicle again.Ever.
This is one of those freaky robot cars. I punch a button for the ignition and brace myself on the armrests as the car pulls out of the spot on its own, steering wheel turning and everything. Impressed and a little intimidated, I let the tech do its magic with my fingernails digging into anything I can get my hands on, and as I try to figure out who the hell this guy is, I can’t help but allow myself a littleindulgence.
I breathe in deeply, letting his scent invade my senses. Fresh wood, light citrus, black coffee, dark chocolate. I bite my lip and a little whimper escapes as I wiggle my ass against his driver’s seat. His butt was on this seat. His fingers were on this steering wheel. I wrap my fingers around it as he darts into my field of vision and puts his hand out, crouching in front of his own damncar.
He must be regretting tossing off that blank check now, because my crazy is showing. I grip the steering wheel and hit the gas and then the brakes just as fast. I let him sweat. If I can’t get this man on a stretcher, this should wring some answers fromhim.
Cars behind me are honking. We’re holding up traffic. I open the window a crack and throw my voice into thestreet.
“Who are you?” It comes out in a squeak. “Are you a stalker? Are you trying to kidnapme?”
“No, I’m not a stalker. Think about what you’re doing, Kit. You think the best escape route would be taken in a stolen car? A car you stole fromme? What happens when I go down to the police station and the cops lead me right back toyou?”
