“Hi.”
“Do I need to get you a night-light for this evening? Would that help you stay in your own room?”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t scared.”
“I didn’t say you were.” He smiles. “Though next time, you should probably knock before opening the door. Otherwise, I’ll think you’re someone who’s trying to break in.”
“Or someone who’s walking in on you jacking yourself off.”
“Very funny.” He kisses my cheek. “It’d be even funnier if you hadn’t been murmuring my name every fifteen minutes last night.”
“I did not!”
“You did, but it’s okay. I would never count your sleep-talk as an invite to your body—even though that’s what you want.”
I roll my eyes and get out of the bed. “I’m going to go do some more writing now.” I walk into the hallway and head to my room, but he follows me and takes my hand.
He leads me into the kitchen and pulls out a barstool. Then, as if that last conversation never happened, he starts to make breakfast and asks more questions about my writing.
Once we’re done eating, he shows me into his private library—a large sunroom that features ceiling high book cases, and we do our separate work while sitting next to each other on a couch.
Much to my surprise, the next few days pass with us following the same routine: We work sitting side by side during the afternoons, and in between breaks he insists on reading me passages from his “favorite type of books”—Of course, they’re all erotic novels.
The best part of these days is the end, because for whatever reason he feels the need to personally escort me to my room. Then he always asks, “Are you sleeping alone?”
Even though I’ve said yes every single time, the toe-curling kiss he gives me right after always makes me want to change my mind. And, despite the fact that the storm’s winds scare the hell out of me and always make me tiptoe into his bedroom in the middle of the night, he never makes a move on me.
He just holds me.
“Paris?” Blake is at my bedroom door again.
“Yes?”
“Are you sleeping alone tonight?”
I nod, and as if on cue, he presses his lips against mine and wraps his arms around my waist—kissing me harder than he’s ever kissed me before.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I murmur as he bites my bottom lip, as he rubs his hands up and down my back.
Just give in...Give the f**k in...
I pull back and fix my mouth to say, “I don’t want to sleep alone,” but he doesn’t give me the chance. He clearly thinks me pulling away means I want to end our kiss, because he says goodnight and walks away.
“I’ll be up late tonight if you can’t sleep.” He looks over his shoulder.
“More case files?”
“Unfortunately,” he says, and I know that “unfortunately” has a double meaning.
Chapter 9
I wake up alone in Blake’s bed.
From the open windows, I can see that the snowfall has finally slowed to a trickle. The roads are still buried in snow, but I can see emergency workers pushing mounds of it onto the sidewalks.
As I pull back the sheets, I notice a bright white box on the edge of the bed that bears my name. Right underneath my name is a note: For Tonight...
Confused, I open the box and gasp when I see what’s inside: It’s a haltered silk plum dress and pair of matching nude heels.
“You’re a six, right?” Blake steps into the room with two plates of waffles.
“Should I be offended that you’ve been with so many women that you can tell their sizes just by looking?”
“That, or you can be aware of the fact that I saw your jacket’s tag on the plane. Whatever makes you feel better.” He sets the food down. “I ordered it the same day you agreed to stay. The store owner was very surprised and wanted to know more about who you were.”
“Did you tell him the truth?”
“I just told him that I liked you.” He smiles. “Will you go out with me tonight?”
“Out where, Blake?” I point to the window. “Do you not see what’s happening outside your window?”
“Is that a yes?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s an, ‘Are you out of your mind’?”
“I’m serious. Just trust me.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. What time should I be ready?”
“Eight. I’ll even come to your door.”
“How gentleman-like of you. Are you trying to butter me up?”
“I’m trying to do whatever it takes to get into your pants so I can finally f**k you. You’re taking too long to make up your mind.”
WHAT?!
I open my mouth to respond, but he kisses me before I get the chance.
“I’m joking,” he whispers. “Don’t look at me like that.” He motions for me to sit on the bed, and then he grabs a book from his drawer.
“Now,” he says, opening it. “Where did I leave off in our reading yesterday?”
“The part where the girl learned how to give the guy a blow job for the first time.”