He gives me that slow, sinful smile that seems veryfamiliar, but which didn’t seem to affect me before today.
“Maybe we can continue this upstairs in my room?” He reaches to tuck a curl behind my ear. The robe becomes a furnace as I try, and fail, to regulate my breathing.
“We agreed no shenanigans,” I rasp, the words barely passing my throat. The devil on my shoulder throws a tantrum, questioning my sanity.
“I wonder, though, why you suggested it? What are you afraid of, Cora?” he drawls.
That is a good question? What am I afraid of? Because if I judge by my body’s reaction to his touch—his mere presence—I’m fighting something, and I don’t even know why.
I haven’t been in a serious relationship for almost ten years, protecting my heart at all costs. I used to choose my casual hookups carefully, with men who felt safe. Men who wouldn’t call the next day.
Even if there were a slight indication they would, I would just give them a wrong number. Yes, protect my heart at all costs, while potentially stomping over theirs.
I’m pretty sure Xander won’t call the next day, but I’m also quite sure the loss would sting. He’s not a safe option.
His hand lingers near my ear. It sends micro-explosions throughout my body. Swatting it away, I sit up.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Xander, you’re a decade younger. This makes no sense.” I laugh, but it’s strangled.
This man is good, I’ll give him that, but he won’t fool me. A playboy like him would have another woman on his arm within hours of sleeping with me.
He sits up as well, and as he pivots, his legs bracket mine. I glance down, but at least the towel is long enough to cover what seems like a growing erection. The awareness of his cock in such proximity makes me press my thighs tighter.
“Age is just a number. I don’t care how old you are—”
“You should,” I croak.
Nothing that happened today is ordinary for me, and yet all of it has been wonderful. Why can’t I just be reckless for a bit longer?
“Now who is being ridiculous?” Xander says.
“I’m being realistic—”
“No, you’re being stubborn.”
Asshole. “Has it ever occurred to you I might not be attracted to you?”
His dimples make an appearance. “No.”
“Well, that’s presumptuous.” At least his cockiness cools my inconvenient desire.
His hands settle on my thighs. I didn’t even realize the robe had parted—not until his touch meets bare skin, and I freeze. My breath hitches. Goddammit.
I should swat him away, but it’s like I have a point to prove—though I have no idea what I’m proving or to whom—so I don’t move.
He doesn’t advance any farther—just traces short lines up and down my inner thigh with his thumb. Even that feather contact makes me want to spread my legs.
I want to look away, but for some reason I’m a prisoner of his hooded gaze.
Okay, he’s right, there is chemistry. Or my body is just so sex-deprived that it reacts. Not that I can tell him that.
“Coraline, we’re both old enough for lies like that. We share an attraction, and I have a feeling that burying my cock in your pussy would be unforgettable. Because I’m not going to lie, I invited you to that gala because I wanted to get to know you. And since that gala, I have been thinking about all the ways I can make you scream, and believe me, you would enjoy every single one of them and ask for more.”
Fuck, if he puts it like that… I pant by the time he finishes his declaration. One that sounded more like a threat.
It’s not just the promise he socasually, but so passionately, threw between us. It’s not that he’s just admitted he’s been thinking about this for weeks.
It’s the way he used Coraline for the second time today. My father is the only person who used my given name. Until he stopped.
