Dorian’s eyes narrow slightly, irritation and disappointmentflickering through them.
He almost had me. Damn, he’s good.
But two people can play the charm game. Clearly this guy likes sex, and he’s wide open to all possibilities. And while I may not be model material, I’m pretty damn hot.
It’s time to turn the tables on him.
“So you haven’t been in love. Good for you.” I shrug, curving my shoulders inward a little as I lean forward. It’s a pose I’ve practiced on guys before, one that highlights my collarbones and cleavage. “I had a few relationships in high school, a few more in college. They were okay. I like the idea of sex, but honestly, when it comes down to the nitty-gritty of it, it’s not that great. More awkward, messy, and disappointing than fun. Not as aesthetically pleasing or enjoyable as it looks in movies.”
He takes the bait instantly. “Maybe you’ve been watching the wrong movies. Or sleeping with the wrong people.”
I hold back a triumphant smile. There’s nothing people like more than the chance to prove they can rock your world and demolish the memory of every other sexual encounter you’ve had.
“Sleeping with the wrong people, huh?” I run my fingers down the stem of my wineglass. “And you’d be one of the right people?”
“Why not? You’re attracted to me.”
I vent a little mocking scoff.
“You are.” He gazes at me smugly. “Everyone is.”
“So what are you, God’s gift?”
He chuckles. “No. The Devil’s, maybe.”
“Devils make bargains, don’t they? I think you mentioned a better offer.” I put the last forkful of meat into my mouth, careful to chew slowly, my lashes half hooding my eyes.
Dorian’s tongue traces his lips.
I’ve made him want me. He’s interested in showing me a good time, if only to prove his skill in the bedroom. And I’ve hinted that I might,maybe, be persuaded to paint his portrait.
Power regained.
“I’ll commission you for one hundred thousand,” he says, and I nearly tumble out of my chair. “You paint a portrait of me, under the conditions that I dictate, without questioning me about said conditions. And I’ll throw in a night with me, guaranteed not to be awkward or disappointing. As for messy…well, there’s a good kind of mess.” The dimple carves into his cheek again.
“Let me think.” I tap my chin, frowning. “Um…hmm, well…no. But thank you for dinner. It was the best I’ve ever had.”
I rise, loop the thin strap of my handbag over my shoulder, and step out of the booth, not bothering to adjust my skirt, knowing Dorian will have a full view of my long tattooed legs from ankle to upper thigh. My cool demeanor is a brittle shell over the frantic thunder of my pulse as I stalk out of Circa 1886 into the dark night.
I didn’t gain as much insight as I’d hoped, but I learned enough to know that I need to stay far away from this man, with his murky past, vague answers, and ridiculously high offers. No amount of money is worth breaking the vow I made.
Wentworth Street glimmers with warm golden lamps, and I inhale deeply of the breeze blowing in off the ocean while I walk quickly away from the carriage-house restaurant. I’ve just made it across Smith Street when quick steps scuff the pavement behind me.
I reach into my little handbag, pushing aside my phone and curling my fingers around a small can of pepper spray. I whirl around, holding it ready.
“You don’t need that, Baz,” Dorian says, irritation edging hisvoice. “I just want to talk.”
We’re in the shadow of a yellow four-story house, in a dark, unlit part of the street. No pedestrians around at the moment.
“So talk,” I bite out.
“Why won’t you accept my commission?”
“Maybe I just don’t like you.”
He scoffs. “You dislike me so much you won’t take a hundred thousand dollars? I know you could use the money. It’s one painting, Baz.”
“Stop saying my name,” I hiss.
