Page 7 of Conflict
HELLO, GORGEOUS.
What was it that I was saying about being ready for bed? Because, yeah, that thought has flown out the window at the sight of the man before me. A man who I can tell, at just one glance, has the power to throw a wrench into my plans in the most delicious way.
I’m stopped in my tracks just a few feet from the hot tub to study the lean, extremelyfine-looking man throwing a towel on a lounge chair. My eyes are drawn to a tanned, muscular chest with nipples pebbled from the chilly winter breeze.
I’m pretty sure I lick my lips, and I’m pretty sure he sees me doing so.
I’m torn between trying out how to finagle a taste and going back to my condo to avoid him and anyone who may join him. A girl doesn’t need rejection on her first night, am I right?
Just as I’m about to turn around, I think about Davey. Robert. Ryan. The last one gives me shivers, and not in a good way. Maybe this guy can break my dry spell. Maybe he’s what I need. After all, it’s not like I’ll ever have to see him again. Maybe we can just have this one night with a lifetime of memories.
I’m getting way ahead of myself, but hell, what’s the worst that could happen?
Thoughts of Ryan’s mom pop into my head, and I stamp those way, way down. After all, I’m a guest here. I want to relax with my drink and turn into a prune in the hot water. No man, no matter how sexy, is going to stop me. So I take a sip of liquid courage and stroll across the wet cement, trying not to seem either too eager or too hesitant.
I feel eyes on my ass while I spread my towel out. I might make a show out of shimmying my shorts and hoodie off, but what can I say? I’m shameless.
When I turn back toward the hot tub, I see that my intuition wasn’t wrong. He’s absolutely eyeing me, and I give myself a silent pat on the back for my shimmy game. I don’t know if it’s the atmosphere, the alcohol, or his ridiculously good looks, but there’s something in the air tonight that’s making me want to throw all caution to the wind and have one of those good old-fashioned one-night stands I’ve heard so much about.
Whoa, girl. Maybe say two words to the fella before you fall on his dick.
My conscience cools me off a little. Because, yes, I’m gettingwayahead of myself. Who wants a desperate girl, anyway? So I settle down, trying hard—and failing—to hold a sigh of pleasure back as I enter the deliciously warm water. Goosebumps pebble my upper body until I set my cocktail on the edge of the hot tub and lower myself into the water to get comfortable.
It’s just this sexy stranger, me, and the sounds of soft ’80s music playing over the sound speaker on the pool deck. I almost laugh when Heart’s “All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You” comes on. I’m not sure if it’s the universe telling me to go for it or to run far, far away, considering that the woman in the song gets knocked up. Then again, I don’t have some infertile man back home waiting for me, so I decide I’m not going to take it as a bad omen.
We sit here through most of the song in what doesn’t quite feel like an uncomfortable silence, but once the song switches to “Piano Man,” I decide to just let it be. If he wants to talk, he’ll talk.
I close my eyes and rest my head back against the concrete, allowing Billy Joel to take me away. My fingers drum against my thigh, grateful that I excelled at one thing Mother had forced onto me in my childhood. Piano playing was my favorite before I got so busy with school, and I couldn’t hear this song without wanting to find my own set of keys and lose myself in the music. Which is pretty much what I’m doing now, except my leg is the piano.
As the song continues, I feel those eyes on me again. I tell myself to keep mine closed. Don’t give in. But I’m weak, and the moment I open mine, I see that, once again, intuition has won.
When he sees I’ve caught him staring, he has the decency to throw me an absolutely gorgeous smile. It’s full, breathtaking, and cocky as hell, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Warmth pools deep in my belly. From a freaking smile. If I were a puppy, I’d be saying, “Down, girl.”
Since he’s so shamelessly watching me, I take my time studying him, capturing every sight and committing it to memory. Davey, Robert, Ryan who?
I’ve heard of men with chiseled features, yet I’d never met one. Not until this guy. He’s chiseled to such perfection that Michelangelo couldn’t have even dreamed him up.
He has a sharp nose, a jawline so sturdy that Matt Bomer would be jealous, and just the faintest hint of cheekbones that make him appear rugged yet pretty. If you could call a man pretty. This one definitely is.
And, now, I sound absolutely pathetic, waxing poetic about a man I don’t know.
His eyes, from what I can see across the hot tub, are a dark blue and currently gleaming with delight in my direction. That warmth in my belly slowly slides down until it rests in the space between my legs.
Down, girl, indeed.
The stirring surprises me. Since Ryan, I haven’t met a man who’s sparked desire within me. But from one look, one smile, this guy is igniting an inferno.
Or maybe I just really,reallyneed to get laid.
“All by yourself?”
I shouldn’t be surprised that his voice is as sexy as the rest of him, but holy moly, the rumble of that timbre resonates far too intimately.
My gaze, naturally, falls to his lips, which are wet and full of promise. I imagine those lips on mine, trailing down the curve of my neck, on my breasts.
Billy Joel turns into Prince’s “Kiss”, and if the universe was telling me something with all the mishaps before, I’m hearing her loud and clear this time.
