“But I didn’t really care. This past year, though, has me doubting myself.” I looked up at the ceiling. Why was I telling him this?
He lay down beside me. “Let’s refute these points quickly because you’ve done wonders for my refractory period, which is further proof that you are being silly.”
“One, Ken told me—”
“That man is a dumbass, and his name should not even be spoken in your presence.”
“Fine, the Douchecanoe told me that I was too old to do the honey-trap scenarios.”
“The what? Are you out there getting government secrets like a modern Mata Hari or something?”
“No, no. Sometimes a significant other—or a member of their family—would hire me to flirt with someone to see if they were willing to cheat.”
“Oh. And what was your success rate? Ninety-seven percent? Because I seem to recall that you had me giving you my Social Security number not that long ago.”
“When you put it that way ...” I rolled over on my side, so we were face-to-face.
He paused, studied me, closing his brown eye slightly more than his blue, almost as though he were looking at me through a microscope or possibly taking aim. “And?”
“This college kid called me a ‘saggy-ass bitch,’” I said with a sigh.
“First of all, no. I bet I could bounce a quarter off your ass, and I might like to try that experiment later. Second, what do you care about his opinion?”
“I don’t know. So weird to have these thoughts.” My eyes met his. “Even weirder to tell you about them. I guess I feel like I can because I know you’re going back to California.”
Was it my imagination or did he tense when I mentioned California? If so, he quickly recovered. “And here I thought you might feel comfortable telling me these things because we have one of those special pizza-based relationships.”
My stomach dropped.
So he wasn’t going to deny it. He wasn’t going to say he’d like to take our relationship beyond pizza. And if he wasn’t going to float that idea out there, then I wasn’t going to, either. I’d just admitted to fearsabout my body, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to add being clingy to my list of foibles.
“Stella,” he said softly.
I’d been staring at his tattoo while tracing it with my finger, but my eyes immediately met his because he had never addressed me as anything other than Stark. “Yes?”
His hand lay gently on my cheek. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Malone,” I said. I could feel my cheeks growing hotter.
“You know I’m telling you the truth, too, because I’ve already gotten into your pants.”
“Well, that and you’d plead the Fifth before you’d lie.”
“Duh. It’s my favorite amendment.”
I bit my lip to keep from asking him if he would be willing to make our arrangement more permanent. Things would’ve been so much easier if we did more kissing and less talking. I forced a smile and traced my hand down his body. “How’s that refractory period coming along?”
“Terrible, just terrible,” he said even as his erection betrayed him. “I think you’re going to have to persuade me.”
And so I did.
Later, we were eating Chinese takeout when I asked him how work was going.
Malone responded with sad trombone noises.
“You’re so articulate,” I said.
“I’ll have you know”—he held his chopsticks in the air in feigned outrage—“I’m a very cunning linguist.”
