Page 32 of Art of Love
Although there were some massive differences. I could easily say no to Stephan. Hunter, on the other hand, was a special case. It was the attraction and the chemistry. It made me crazy.
And I was still here trying to remember what happened between us, and trying not to freak out, and run to the drug store and buy a pregnancy test.
It was too much on my plate.
“In this sleepover you plan to have, would we be sleeping together at any point?”
“No, Stephan.” I frowned at him.
“Just checking. Anyway, come on, let’s go to dinner.”
“Dinner?” I wasn’t exactly in the mood to go out again, and it was raining.
“Yes, dinner. We can go to that Japanese place you love. Come on, Jia, humor me. I haven’t seen you properly in three years, and the last time wasn’t exactly great.”
It was at Todd’s funeral. He’d come to support me. That was why I still talked to him. It was his genuine care and desire to be there for me. Despite what he did to me, and how he treated our relationship.
“Okay. Thank you.”
I probably should eat. There was no harm in dinner and I needed my strength for tomorrow. Maybe a tasty Japanese banquet would be good for my memory too.
***
Forget memory.
Who needed memory when I had my dreams?
Last night, I had a series of vivid erotic dreams of that damn Hunter.
And when I say erotic, I mean of the R-rated variety.
The thing was, I didn’t think they were dreams. I thought they were memory fragments. Pieces of my memories trying to break free and resurface.
However, if what I dreamt was in truth what happened and he remembered everything and I couldn’t, I was in for one hell of a ride when I did remember.
In my dream, he touched me everywhere. Literally everywhere, and I begged him to. There really was no error on his part. It was all me. I remembered whipped cream being squirted all over my breasts and him licking and sucking me clean.
That was the first image that popped into my mind when I saw him this morning.
Today, he wore his hair in a ponytail that made him look sexier. Loose tendrils hung about his ears, but the rest looked neat. He’d also trimmed his beard.
A black silk button-down shirt clung to his powerful torso, and he’d left the top button undone so I could see more of the Celtic swirl on his chest and the Japanese character for love.
He was in the middle of drawing something on the flip chart when I walked in and he regarded me. He made no effort to hide his obvious admiration of me and didn’t even flinch when I frowned at him. In fact, it encouraged him, and he made a show of taking his time to check me out.
I’d decided to go for casual today and had thrown on a black romper. It may have showed off too much of my legs, but I was comfortable.
“Good morning,” I said with emphasis, cutting into his show.
He laughed. “Yes, it is good. You know you shouldn’t wear things like that if you aren’t trying to turn me on. Remember yet?”
I held his gaze and decided I’d kind of had enough of being in the dark.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Bite the bullet and get it over and done with.“I remember whipped cream.” Heat rushed my cheeks. “Was there whipped cream?”
