Page 81 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“A good boyfriend would be accommodating,” he reminded her, drawing her attention back to him. “Now, tell me what you think of these,” he said opening a document on his computer.
She made a move to lean over his shoulder, but he tugged her into his lap instead.
“Davis. We don’t have to be like this alone.” He heard the warring notes of panic and passion in her voice and didn’t feel the least bit bad for purposely pushing her buttons.
“Consider it practice for when we’re out in public.” He rubbed a hand down her back, letting his fingers brush the strip of skin that appeared between the waistband of her pants and the hem of her soft sweater.
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of the situation, would you, Gates?” Eden asked.
“Heaven forbid. I’m just dedicated to selling it.” He danced his fingers up her spine, under the sweater, and felt the prickle of goosebumps on her silky skin. “Now, tell me your thoughts on these label designs.”
He opened the file from the design firm and turned over control of the mouse to her, never ceasing his gentle caresses.
She clicked through the designs one at a time, pausing to compare two side-by-side. Her ramrod straight back started to relax against him, and he relished the surrender.
“This one,” she said, finally pointing at the screen. “It’s slick and whimsical. Kind of like your winery, bringing class to our little hippie, backwoods town.”
She’d chosen the one he’d been drawn to, the one his father had nixed for being too “fun.”
He lifted her hair from her neck and placed a soft kiss at her nape. Davis delighted at the full body shiver that skated up her spine.
“I don’t think you need that much practice,” Eden said dryly, once again tense in his lap.
“Mmm. But I like touching you,” he confessed.
She took a shaky breath and shifted in his lap to face him. “Davis,” she said, warningly.
“Don’t you trust yourself, Eden?” He pressed his fingertips to her neck, rubbing in slow, lazy circles.
“Look. Last night was… great. Really great. But I don’t want to complicate things.”
“Who’s complicating anything?” Davis asked, skating his teeth over her neck.
“Holy—Gah! Davis!” She was sprawled across his lap, one hand simultaneously holding on tight and pushing away. One breast was pressed into his chest, and his knee had parted hers from below. Exactly where he wanted her.
She watched in what looked like fascination as he ran his free hand over her knee and up her thigh. Back and forth, each time rising higher, growing bolder. He gripped her waist with his other hand, just under the curve of the breast he’d worshipped last night.
It had been mere hours, yet it felt like a lifetime again.
“Do you like it when I touch you, Eden?” he asked.
She stared at the track of his hand as if it were mesmerizing.
He was hard as marble, his cock fighting against the confines of his slacks as if they were a prison. But he didn’t attempt to go any further.
“Fluke. Fluke. Fluke.” Davis heard Eden chanting under her breath.
“Do you regret last night?” he asked her.
She shook her head hard. “No! I mean, no,” she said with more calm. “It’s not that. I just think it’s not a good idea for a repeat performance. It’ll… complicate things.”
His fingers skated higher up her thigh within an inch of where he wanted to be. “I see,” he said, teasing her with his mouth at her ear. “And you want uncomplicated.”
She nodded without speaking.
“Then we’ll keep things uncomplicated,” he agreed amiably. He stalled the motion of his hand. He felt her tense against him, coiling tight.
She opened her eyes, lashes fluttering.
