She lets go of that lip as I slowly release her wrist, then we stay there, staring at each other with hardly any city lights around. The diamonds glitter on her neck like her eyes shine in her face. She wraps her arms around herself and I keep my eyes on her as I text Derek, and we walk down the block toward the corner, my gaze glued to her profile. I’m not good at conversation with women—I fuck them, pay them, get rid of them. I want to talk to her and at the same time, I know I should be running from her.
I laugh softly because I never knew I could be so awkward in any situation, and I cover her in my suit jacket. It’s not cold, but that dress makes me want to devour her. Derek picks us up in a silver SUV then drops us off at one of those twenty-four-hour restaurants that have bad breakfasts, bad lunches, and bad dinners, but it seems to be the only choice to hit up nearby.
I lead Melanie to a booth in the back, one where our backs are covered and I can see the door and every entry. She eases out of my coat and sets it aside, opposite where I sit.
We sit close.
But not close enough.
While we view our menus, I can’t resist myself. I lower my hand under the table, to her thigh. She stares at her menu, but I can see her breath quicken when I start to rub my finger higher into her thigh.
“What do you like to eat?” I ask her, watching her bite her lip again.
“I like what’s bad for me. Doesn’t everyone? A little alcohol. A lot of chocolate and nuts. But I force-feed myself a ton of vegetables to counteract the bad stuff with good. One positive and a negative . . . kind of thing.” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re dancing playfully. “And you?”
I want to feast on nothing but your mouth, your tits, your *, and that fucking lip you’re torturing with your teeth, teeth I want to feel rasping along my cock.
“I’m a fan of international foods. Anything. Thai, Chinese, Mexican, Japanese, I like different tastes. I enjoy being . . . surprised when it comes to my palate. I like spices.”
“Do you come into the city for work?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you do for work?” The genuine interest in her eyes makes me feel like a fucking douche bag.
“Security.” I slap my menu shut. “In my father’s company.”
“Really now? How interesting! I wouldn’t peg you for a man who worked with his father. With anyone, actually.”
My lips curl in amusement as I signal for the waiter, then raise one eyebrow in question at her. “You mean to say you don’t believe I can play well with others?”
“You just give off the impression of separateness.”
“Do I?”
There she goes again, biting that damn lip. “It’s intriguing.”
“You give the impression of playfulness and comfort. I find that intriguing too.”
She grins, a sheepish grin that can’t quite conceal the way her emerald green eyes flood with feminine delight. Maybe I don’t grin like she does, but trust me, I’m just as delighted with her. Once we order, she looks at me and plays with a yellow cuff bracelet on her arm.
“My work is my passion. I’m absolutely obsessed with colors. I can’t leave the house without wearing at least three different colors. Two is too simple. One is absolutely drab and I don’t want to be drab.”
I find myself laughing again, something which seems to come naturally around her. “No way you’re fucking drab. In fact, right here, sitting with you, I feel gray.”
Her smile flashes the instant mine does, and we laugh until our drinks are set before us, and she sips from her straw.
“I like this,” she says with a long sigh of intense pleasure as she sits back in relaxation. She takes an even longer look at me. “It feels like a date. And it feels like forever since I’ve had one of those.”
In my peripherals, I just noticed that Derek sat at a table nearby, across from C.C.
“It is a date. You invited me to your friend’s wedding. That’s a date in my book.”
“I did not invite you. I said you could come . . .”
“And we both know how much we love me coming.”
She smiles wickedly, and it does nothing to calm my raging libido. I can tell she likes it when I’m bad. She likes bad boys.
Fuck, princess, you don’t know I’m the baddest of the bad, I think and then, another thought, Hell, I’m not a bad boy, I’m a bad man!
It brings me down a little to realize I’m no good for her.
“Come on, admit it,” I press her, reviving myself with the playful glint in her eye. “I came, I conquered—at least getting you out to dinner makes me feel like a conqueror—and I even survived your angry black-haired friend.”
“Pandora.” She laughs. “But she’s right asking about these, these are too much, more than I’m worth.”
She absently strokes the necklace on her throat, and I whisper, a warning, “Melanie.”
“Greyson . . .”
Hell, I can see the seeds of doubt her friend planted almost spinning in her little head. I keep my voice level, low even, but stern.
“Do whatever you want with the necklace. Just don’t return it to me.”
Swear to god, if I could only telepathically send this woman the damn message to do what any smart girl bent on survival would.
She may wait, but when the time dwindles, she’ll do it. I expect her to. Hell, when she’s spent enough time with me, she’ll be sick of me and anything of mine and she’ll dump it faster than she can say Greyson.
The thought makes my gut heat up in anger.