“My ‘Hang On Let Me Overthink This’ T-shirt and ratty jeans?” I tease, knowing full well he’s not talking about the clothes I wore home from the convention.
“No, the black and green catsuit. Although if I’m honest, I wanted to fuck you in the T-shirt and jeans, too.”
“It’s not a catsuit, it’s body armor. And you couldn’t have wanted me that much if turned down my shower invitation.”
“Like I said.” His voice lowers to a sexy purr. “Later. Delayed gratification heightens the pleasure.”
His words send a shiver through me. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Can’t it be both?”
He motions for me to sit and pours us each a glass of wine. Then he joins me, opening up the containers of Thai food and passing the satay and drunken noodles my way.
“You know what I love about vegetarians?” I ask as I pick up a skewer of chicken and dip it into the peanut sauce. “No asking to switch meals. And no sharing.”
He laughs and spears a piece of tofu with his fork. “I hope that’s not the only thing you like about me.”
“It’s one of your many good qualities.” I take a bite of chicken and dunk the skewer back into the peanut sauce. Double dipping. Another perk of dating a vegetarian. “But right now, it’s the most important one.”
He seems to accept that explanation. We eat and drink and talk like usual. This isn’t the first meal we’ve eaten together. It’s not even the second or the third. We’ve shared plenty of meals in our two months as roommates-turned-lovers.
But there’s something different about this one. And it’s not the food, or the wine, or the place settings that would have Emily Post rolling over in her grave. It’s not even the candles, which, admittedly, are a new touch.
But they aren’t what’s making tonight feel special. Important. Like we’re on the verge of something monumental. The air between us sizzles with more than sexual attraction. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is.
Possibilities. For him. For me. For us. For the future.
It’s scary and exciting and more than a little bit nerve wracking. We’re playing a game of chicken, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Dinner ends in a stalemate, neither one of us brave enough to take that first step. I collect our plates, intending to load them into the dishwasher. Connor pries them from my hands and puts them in the sink.
“Leave it. We’ll deal with the cleanup—”
“Let me guess.” I lean against the counter next to him, watching his strong, slender fingers as he polishes off his wine and adds our glasses to the pile of dirty dishes. “Later?”
“Right.” His arm comes around me, hand resting, fingers splayed, on my ass. “Later.”
He leads me to his bedroom—ours, really, since I’ve been spending most of my nights there—but instead of taking my clothes off or stripping himself, he shoos the cats onto the floor and reclines on the bed, pulling me down to lay next to him. He props himself up on one elbow and reaches his free hand out to trace a path from my temple to my cheek. “Have I told you how amazing you were today? That whole room fell in love with you.”
How about you?I want to scream.Did you fall in love with me?
Instead, I sling a leg across his hips, bringing my naughty bits dangerously close to his junk. Not surprisingly, it’s already half hard, just like I’m already damp. We seem to have that effect on each other.
I pull his shirt from his waistband and slide my hand underneath so I can feel his heartbeat. Its rapid, excited thumping matches mine. “You were the amazing one. I know it couldn’t have been much fun, standing around watching me sign my name thousands of times. Being forced to make small talk with strangers all day.”
“I confess to wanting to punch out a guy dressed as the Mad Hatter.” He chuckles, the sound reverberating beneath my palm. “But other than that, everyone was pretty cool.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t get your ass thrown in jail. It meant a lot to me that you were there.”
His eyes are heavy-lidded, his breathing erratic, his voice husky. “Where else would I be?”
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d come. I remember how miserable you’d get when your dad made you go to signings and stuff with him.”
“One, you didn’t make me do anything.” Connor swipes a stray curl out of my face and tucks it behind my ear “And two, you’re way prettier than my dad. Nicer, too. The way you took the time to talk to everyone who wanted your autograph—my dad never does that. Unless it’s an attractive woman under thirty, with or without a wedding ring.”
My robe falls open a bit—or maybe his wandering fingers have something to do with it—and he cups my breast, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It’s a slow, calculated seduction, and it’s making it harder and harder for me to concentrate.
“Does that mean you’ll go to another event with me?” I manage to ask. Now it’s my voice that’s breathy and husky. “Because the Soho Independent Film Festival is coming up in a few weeks, and I’m scheduled to present one of the awards.”
