“Oh, sure, put conditions on me now,” I say, hoping he takes it as the joke it’s meant to be.
If he does or doesn’t, I’ll never know. He simply continues to watch me carefully.
“I invited you into my home to stay with me as a friend,” he says. “Whether we’ve had sex or not doesn’t matter. I enjoy spending time with you—even when you’re a presumptuous little darling.”
“Hey!”
He chuckles. “You’re going to need to stop talking to me like a business associate and more like a friend. Okay? While I find your prowess insanely attractive and also kind of adorable, I really don’t want to feel like I’m at a business meeting in my own home.”
His words ring through my ears and bury themselves in my heart.Do I do that?
I try to think back to the words I use when communicating with my friends—or my family because I don’t really have a lot of friends. I have a way of getting to the point. I’m aware that I have a tendency to take over situations and impose myself in decisions.
But do I talk to people like business associates?I don’t know.What I do know is that I need to steer this conversation into easier waters.
“I suppose my problem is that I didn’t know we were friends,” I say, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips.
“You didn’t?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s interesting. Do you often agree to stay with men you aren’t friends with?”
I bite my bottom lip. “Only when I need fucked.”
His eyes light up as his whole face comes alive. His tongue works around his cheek as his entire body moves with each breath he takes.
Watching him react to me—and forgetting the previous conversation—is a treat. The way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and how his thick neck rolls around his shoulders are things I commit to memory for later use.
He closes the distance between us in two seconds flat. His eyes bore into mine. My breathing becomes labored as I imagine his hands roaming across my body the way they did before—cupping my breasts, caressing my cheeks, and guiding me closer by pressing against the small of my back.
“Is that what you want? Do you want to be fucked, Blaire?”
I bat my eyelashes. “I’m afraid to answer you. I might not soundfriendlyenough.”
A growl rumbles from his throat as his hand reaches for my face. I hold my breath as his palm grows closer. It’s nearly to the side of my neck when the door chimes ring.
My breath exhales in one loud whoosh as his hand drops to his side. His eyes are alight with humor.
“Dinner’s here,” he says as his face breaks into a megawatt smile.
“You’re kidding me.”
He turns toward the door. “Hope you like Italian.”
“You’re just … gonna …”
I squirm as he walks toward the doorway. My thighs ache with an unsatisfied need. And the only way to sufficiently meet that need is on his way to answer a freaking door.
Holt pauses and turns around in the doorway. “Am I just gonna what? Leave you there? In the guest room? Where you wanted to be?”
My jaw hangs open.
The doorbell chimes again.
“I’m coming!” Holt shouts down the hallway.
“I’m glad one of us is.”
