I need to get a grip.
When he doesn’t answer, I look up at him and add, “The role play?”
He finishes the last button on his shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his collar leaving a tantalizing peek at the black lines I know run all over the heavy muscle. His jacket sits draped over the back of my couch.
I thought having clothes on would make me want him less. Yeah, and Caillou is a sweet kid.
“There’s a longer answer, but to keep things simple, you’re the first person I’ve been able to enjoy it with.”
I have zero clue how to interpret that.
“You were amazing,” I admit, before remembering that’s something the other Ivy would say. I’m the one who needs to reel things back. “Kind of felt like the best naughty dream I’ve ever had, times ten.”
“I appreciate the feedback,” he teases, the cocky bastard.
I find my keys on the coffee table, zip them into the hidden pocket in my leggings. “Yeah, okay. Don’t let it go to your head. I’m pretty sure you know how good it was.”
“A little positive reinforcement never hurts,” he says, backing me up against the front door.
How is it even possible that he still smells incredible? Probably better than last night. Like sleep and sex and rebellion.
“For example,” he says, voice a low rumble against my cheek. “You were gorgeous last night. Working the room as though you owned it before giving yourself over to me so beautifully. I’ve never seen anything like it.” I shiver as he brushes a kiss along my shoulder. “You’re a revelation.”
It’s disarming.
He’s disarming, as though he’s not only seen this show before, but he’s working off his own notes from the margins, steering me onto my mark with a firm hand and a lazy smile.
I close my eyes, my heart rabbiting in my chest.
Damn, do I want to follow.
“It’s almost a shame we have to break up,” I whisper, the only allowance I’ll make to wishing for something more.
“Hmm, it is.”
There’s a moment where my eyes are still closed and the heat of his body blankets mine and I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. One for the road. A memory to hold on to.
But it never comes.
Instead, I blink my eyes open as he steps away, smiling softly with a promise I have to ignore if I want to keep my resolve.
The elevator ride downstairs borders on awkward, and, ah, there is the tension I remember from every other morning after. Everything in me is screaming to not let him leave, to make a move, ask for his number, anything.
Maybe he’s expecting it. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe I’m the only one left off balance by last night. My heart is already skipping ahead down the road of romance toward date nights and home-cooked meals and text messages that leave me giddy.
Who the hell am I kidding? Of course he isn’t.
They never are.
At least I have last night. For a few hours, I was another Ivy. The one who’s lived a hundred different lives and had a devoted boyfriend.
It was a fun role to play.
“Hey,” he says, like a man without a care in the world. He’s leaning on the wall of the elevator, close enough that our elbows brush and no less attractive for being unwashed and in last night’s clothes. Maybe it’s time I raise my standards. “I have to know. What did you say to Mrs. Vanderweide? I heard she offered triple the price forTheTotem.”
The creepy eyeless golem comes rushing back to me, and I light up, grabbing Lincoln’s arm. “She actually bought it?”
“Wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was insistent that it was the perfect piece for her boat.”
