Page 100 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“Are you suggesting a partnership?” she asked, sitting up and swigging from the bottle.
“You’re not running and screaming in the opposite direction,” he observed.
“What about the breakup?”
Eden slumped back against the couch cushion. “There’s nothing that says we have to go back to hating each other after we break up.”
He felt a single tendril of something—was that hope?—curling into his gut and taking root.
“Are you saying we could stay… friendly?”
She was looking everywhere but directly at him. Eden gave a surly, one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. Just thinking out loud.”
Davis held out his hand for the bottle.
She made a move to hand it over and then dangled it just out of reach. “Can I see?”
“I’m not done.”
Eden rose and closed the scant distance between them to peer over the top of the sketchbook. He wanted her to like it. Wanted her to see the wayhesaw her. All feline grace and sultry energy.
“Mmm.” She studied the stylized sketch with an impassive face.
“Mmm good or mmm terrible?” he asked.
She took the sketchbook from his hand, placed it and the whiskey on the floor, and straddled him on the chair.
“I was right,” she said, lips brushing his.
“About what?” He was already out of breath, and she’d barely touched him. Such was the power of a turned-on Eden Moody.
“Just as hot as it was in the movie.”
“You’ll have to take your clothes off next time,” he suggested, hands sliding up her sides.
“Oh, I can take them off this time.”
He laughed softly. “You’re a hell of a girl, Eden.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Davis.”
When she kissed him, he felt a slow, lingering hunger burn its way into his gut. “I thought we weren’t going to do this again,” he reminded her, lips moving over hers possessively.
“I can’t seem to stop myself,” she whispered against his mouth. “Not sure I want to.”
He liked the sound of that and rewarded her by gripping her hips and dragging her across his already aching cock.
The noise she made was purely carnal, and Davis counted his lucky stars that some idiot thought to stink bomb his house, putting him in this exact position.
She tasted like whiskey and sin. Better than any wine he’d sampled. She grinded against him, both of them desperate for the friction that would take them to the top. Davis slipped his hands under the hem of her sweater finding her skin, soft and warm to the touch.
“God, I love it when you touch me,” she said, biting his lower lip.
Davis’s vision started to gray. This is what was missing in his life. This raw need and Eden willing to fill it again and again.
He coasted his palms up and over her breasts reveling in the sharp rasp of her breath. He memorized the texture of satin skin and lacy bra. Her busy fingers were plucking at the buttons of his shirt with a charge of desperation. Matching her, he shoved her sweater up and over her head, swiping the straps of her bra down her shoulders.
“You are so fucking sexy, Eden,” he breathed.
