Page 15 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
I’d give my eye teeth to know what it is and how to make it better.
I’d also like to track that Fallon guy down and put a bullet in his head, but I suspect Ford would frown on that show of loyalty.
As the song progresses, some of his stiffness gives way, and he melts closer to my body. In our position, my lips are close to his ear, and I struggle with whether or not I should say anything else.
I decide on silence.
The song ends right as another one begins, this one slower, more romantic. I don’t step away, but I loosen my hold on him. To my surprise, he continues dancing, adjusting to the slower beat.
After another moment, he finally speaks up.
“I do want to have sex,” he says, his soft whisper doing terrible things to me. “Or at least I’m pretty sure it’s something I’ll enjoy.”
He definitely would if it were with me.
I don’t say that. Instead, I let the modern man take the lead on this one.
“I find that, in this arena, whatever you believe about yourself tends to be true. If you think of yourself as someone capable of enjoying sex, you are almost certainly right.”
I can’t see his expression, but he swallows hard and stiffens at my words. “You must think I’m such a child.”
I want to force him to look me in the eye, to see my sincerity, but…I don’t think force is what is needed here.
“Ford, don’t assume anything about me. Ask, and I’ll tell you.” I inhale his luxury scent and revel in the weight of him in my arms. “So I’m going to pretend that you asked me a question. My answer is: no, Ford. I don’t think you’re a child or immature or whatever negative description you’re trying to conjure. I have seen you in action as a formidable businessman and as a friend. Your foresight, kindness, and fashion sense alone lead me to believe there is nothing childlike about you.”
He pulls back, peering into my eyes like a kid who’s just been told they can go to Disneyland but don’t yet believe it.
“You mean that, don’t you?”
“I have never and will never lie to you, Ford. That does mean you have to be careful with the questions you ask of me because you’ll always get a straight answer.”
“Okay.”
He sets his eyes on my shoulders, and we let the pretty melody take us across the dance floor.
When the song ends, I inhale what I can of him and step us off to the side, a question in my eyes. What next?
He fidgets, his eyes darting around the space. “Did you need to stay here for anyone, or can we go?”
“I’m at your disposal. You hungry?”
His eyes brighten at the prospect. “I did have the dinner here, but it was the size of a postage stamp.”
“If you don’t mind slumming it, I missed the postage stamp and could use some good Italian.”
His neck flushes, and he drags his teeth over his bottom lip, fighting to maintain eye contact. “Perfect. I love Italian.”
* * *
WatchingFord devour an entire mountain of spaghetti in front of me is impressive and far too sexual. I decide to leave my last lobster ravioli, but he spears it with his fork and eats it, and now I’m hard as a rock.
“Okay, this is not my business, but I gotta ask. Where did you put all of that food? Do I need to worry about an eating disorder, or…?” I let the words drift off, unsure if I’ve stepped into a minefield.
Ford thins his lips. “I get that a lot, and it is a little annoying.”
I hold up my hands. “Duly noted. I just…you felt a little fragile when I was dancing with you, and I want to ensure you are okay.”
Ford’s square jaw sharpens, annoyance passing over his features. How is a guy with no poker face consistently able to beat me at my own game? Also, fragile is the way wrong word to use with him.
