Page 16 of Broken Headboards
“Confident. That’s a start.” I already feel the alcohol making its way into my bloodstream, my cheeks growing more and more flushed. But I’ve just had one glass, and I’m not even feeling tipsy.
God, talking to him affects me more than it should.
“But I know what you’re getting at, Tess.” His eyes are locked on mine, and I have to force myself to shift my gaze away. “The trick to something as complex as this lies in the details.”
“Right,” I nod, and now it’s my turn to stare straight back at him. If I want to battle it out with someone like Austin, I can’t act coy. “Size is irrelevant, truth be told. I’ve had my fair share of big projects, and I never gave it a second thought. I rather focus on the...experience.”
“The experience?” He raises one eyebrow, his words almost a whisper, and I can see the corners of his lips softly curling upward.
“Think of something like...leather. Is it pleasant to the touch? When you’re lying on it, does it make you want to stay there forever? How does it make you feel when you close your eyes and feel your naked skin against it?”
This time, he doesn’t reply.
My words just float in the air, right between the two of us, and I feel the tension rising with each tick of the clock. What the hell are we even talking about? Sure as hell isn’t furniture.
“You seem to know a few things about leather,” he says after a bit.
“I’ve forgotten more things about leather than you’ll ever know,” I shoot back.
“Leather is fine, but it’s not everything.” Laughing, he motions the bartender to bring us a refill. “At the end of the day, I prefer to focus on the design. And you’re right, the experience is what really matters.” He makes a slight pause, then swivels his stool around to face me directly. “And I like to create an experience of intimacy.”
“Really?” I smirk. “Because from what I’ve seen of your work, it all seems so...raw.”
“Oh, and I’ve seen your work. It’s all about soft, feminine curves, isn’t? It all seems so...fragile. To really melt into a room, you have to add a certain degree of rawness.”
I swallow hard, trying not to choke on the vodka.
“Those are pretty words, I’ll admit,” I clap my hands softly, mocking him. I fold my legs as I turn to face him, just like he did, and I can’t help but notice the way his eyes immediately dart to the hemline of my dress. “But at the end of the day, your work is too aggressive.”
“I’ve never had a complaint,” he says smugly.
“I’m not complaining,” I show him the palms of my hands, smiling. “After all, I never really tried your furniture.”
“Maybe that should change.” Yup, it’s getting hot in here. I might need to rub the sweat of my glass over the back of my neck in a second, thanks to this conversation. “Maybe you’d find that, after all, you enjoy a certain degree of...how did you put it? Aggressiveness?”
Holy shit, I need to get the hell out of here.
Fast.
Standing up, I try to look as relaxed as possible as I grab my purse from the counter. I take a deep breath, trying to stop all that heat from taking over my body, and finally turn around to meet his gaze.
“I’ll see you around, Austin.”
He just tips his glass at me, that maddening smirk back on his lips.
As I walk toward the exit, my heart kicking and punching against my ribcage, I can still feel his eyes on me, following out.
Holy shit, why is my heart racing like this?
Why am I breathing this hard?
And, Christ, why am I so fucking wet?
