I turn to face him, but he just scoots back against the pillows.
“Shall we?” he asks.
I’m caught up in the reverie of his touch, and I start at the question.
“Shall we what?” I ask suspiciously.
He laughs. “Got you, huh? Without even meaning to. I meant the movie, Jasalie. Shall we watch the movie?”
I grit my teeth so hard they hurt. “Coming right up.”
* * *
When the credits begin to roll, I turn the TV off and stand up.
“I guess you’d better get going. I’ve got to get ready for tonight’s event.”
Dylan glances at his watch. “Wow. Time flies.” He stands up, too.
“Thanks for the ‘date.’” I put the word in air quotes. “I can honestly say I’ve never had one like it before.”
I head for the door to let him out. But as my hand touches the doorknob, I can feel him at my back.
His scent surrounds me as his arms cage me in from behind. He leans in so close to me I have to close my eyes and curse inwardly to stop from turning around and pulling him up against me.
He lifts my hair off my shoulder just enough so he can sneak his head into the crook of my neck. I can’t help the shiver that surges through my body at the feel of his nose and lips on my sensitive skin. He doesn’t kiss me, though. His lips barely graze the spot on my racing pulse point, and then he runs his nose down my neck. I can hear his jagged inhale before he buries his face in my shoulder.
“You smell so good,” he murmurs.
I can’t believe he noticed.
I’ve been told I look good, taste good, and feel good by other men, but no one’s ever said I smell good. No one’s ever noticed my mother before.
I jerk back, forcing him to retreat.
“Jasalie.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Hey.”
But I don’t turn to face him. I can’t, or else I’m sure I’ll fall even harder.
Instead, I open the door to its widest arc and step back, making my desire clear. “I’ll see you tonight.”
As soon as he walks through the door, I shut and lock it behind him without giving him a chance to make eye contact or speak to me again.
Chapter Eight
Dylan
Shit. That didn’t go the way I planned. I take the stairs up to my floor and head for my room, cursing myself the whole way.
I glance down at my ringing phone. Tim’s name pops up on the screen. I groan but answer the call.
“Who’s the girl?” he says immediately.
“She’s my date for the weekend,” I say curtly. “Her name’s Jasalie. So stop calling her ‘the girl,’ please.”
“She’s perfect,” he says approvingly. “Bryce will definitely give the donation plus the commercial. A win-win all around.”
Right. I know I wanted the same thing, but talking about Jasalie like she’s a means to an end doesn’t sit well with me.
