He holds my gaze. “And you acquiesced.”
“No, I asked you to fuck me, but thanks for making it sound so proper.”
He widens his stance, almost boxing me into the drafting table.
“I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t suggest that you might be fucking another man in front of the fireplace that I design for you or elsewhere.” His eyes grow darker. “Understood?”
My lips part as I haul precious oxygen into my lungs. Holy shit.
“I meant that maybe you’d bend me over whatever piece of furniture that I place there and would drill me from behind,” I say, fighting fire with fire. “But if you want to think about another man in your place—”
My words are captured by his mouth slamming against mine.
His hands cup my cheeks and hold me still.
I don’t think I could stop him if I wanted to.
Wade kisses me like he means it. Like he wants it. Like he needs it. And I return the touch with as much fervor as he gives.
Every swipe of his touch, dip of his fingers, pulse of his breath drives me wilder.
I yank his shirt out of his waistband and let my fingers roam his back.
He walks me backward until my back is against his drafting table, the edge biting into my skin. He presses kisses from my mouth to just behind my ear. Each motion is deliberate; each kiss is pointed.
“Wade,” I moan, giving him access to my neck.
A buzzing sound rings through the room.
“Mr. Mason? Your brother Oliver is on the phone.”
He stiffens and places one final kiss on the hollow of my throat.
He’s panting when he pulls back. “Shit.” His eyes are wild as he looks at me. “Tell him I’ll call him right back, Eliza.”
“Will do.”
We watch each other with ragged breaths, trying to regain our equilibrium.
Despite the number of times we ravaged each other just a few short nights ago, the fact that this got out of hand so quickly surprises us both.
“Well, then,” I say, straightening my shirt.
He tucks his back into his pants. “Dammit, Dara.”
“What? Don’t Dammit, Dara me. This is your fault.”
“My fault?”
I stick my finger in his chest. “You texted me to come here.”
“And you showed up wearing … that.”
His gaze roaming my body is like a match to a dry forest floor.
“You mean leggings and a sweatshirt?” I laugh. “This is hardly seduction material, Mr. Mason.”
He stills and grins. “You could wear a ski suit, and I’d still want to manhandle you.”
“I hope you’ll never hold yourself back.” I wink before turning back to my chair.
It’s clear that a couple of days apart did him some good. He missed me. And it was good for me too because I had some time to think.
Wade is worth taking a chance on. Me, the person who trusts no one, trusts him. I don’t really know what to do with that, but pretending it’s not true would be a lie.
The question is—will he take a chance on me?
I don’t know. But if I give him all the access he wants, he won’t.
Besides, I have work to do, and I’m not about to let my life get sidetracked over a man who might decide I’m expendable.
Like so many people in my life have chosen.
“I need to go,” I say, picking up my bag. “And you need to call Oliver.”
“Yes, I do. It’s about this Greyshell project that’s the biggest blunder in our company’s history thus far.”
I grin. “If anyone can fix it, it’s you.”
He dips his chin, but I spy his smile. “It’s not all in my hands, but I’ll do my best.”
“I have faith.” I head for the door with as much detached confidence as I can gather. “Call me sometime. But not before the sun is up.”
“Dara,” he says before I walk out.
I turn on my heel and take in how handsome he is.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a lot of bookings this week in the evenings?” he asks.
“I have one, I think. Tomorrow.”
I don’t ask why. I think I know, and the last thing I want to do is put him on the spot.
His phone buzzes again, and I give him a wave. He nods before flashing a smile that’s the brightest one I’ve seen yet and then picks up the phone.
I walk out.
THIRTY-ONE
DARA
I sink into the tub.
Thanks to a bath bomb that Rusti got me for my birthday, the water is lavender. The scent should to match, but it’s more like grapes to me, which is weird.
My toes press against the tub floor to keep me in place. I’ve always wondered what it’s like for tall people who can stretch from one end to the other.
I close my eyes and let the piping hot water that will probably make me look like a wrinkly prune when I’m sixty massage my muscles. The photo shoot today required a million steps up and down a sharp incline and a ladder that nearly took my life. The pictures were totally worth it, but now I need a little R&R.
Imagining sandy beaches and one particular hot architect, I’m dozing off when my phone buzzes on the stool beside the tub.
“Oh, crap,” I say, grabbing the towel behind my head.
I dry my hands and peek at the screen.
My stomach spirals into a well of joy.
I grab the device and unlock it to read the message.
Wade: Are you busy tomorrow evening?
I have no idea. I forgot to check.
Me: No. Are you?
Wade: Would you like to join me for dinner? I could pick you up at six.
I can’t type fast enough. But once the words are printed on the screen, I wait a few seconds before hitting send. I don’t want to look thirsty.
Me: Six is perfect. May I ask where we are going?’
Wade: You may ask, but I will not tell you.
Me: How do I know what to wear?
Wade: It doesn’t matter.
Me: Give me something. Jeans or a dress.
Wade: It doesn’t matter.
Fucker.
Me: I suddenly became unavailable.
Wade: I will be at your place at six. I will pick you up and put you in your dream car, and you will accompany me to the place of my choice.
Me: You seem pretty certain.
Wade: No. I am absolutely certain.
Me: I do like a confident man.
Wade: Tomorrow at six.
Me: We’ll see. winking emoji
Wade: Good night, Dara.
Me: Sweet dreams, Wade.
And then, because he went out of his way to drive me crazy, I do the only thing I can do. I take a picture of the water and cut the photo off just before it shows anything important.
Wade: Ms. Alden …
Me: Phone is dying. Good night, Mr. Mason.
I power off my phone and toss it to the floor. Then my fingers slip under the water, and I go back to my architect fantasy.
THIRTY-TWO
DARA
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
The parking area of the Bartholomew Gardens is empty. Lights shine here and there on the other side of the aging stone wall that’s held together by moss and prayers. The estate is stoic and graceful—the type of place where fairy tales are created.
Wade shuts off the ignition.
“Did you leave something here at the wedding?” I ask. “Not that I mind as long as you take me with you if you go inside the gates.”
He gives me a sideways grin. “This is our destination.”
“For our date?”
He nods.