“I am not going to be taking your clothes off. You’ll be taking them off.”
He took a sip of coffee, then gave her a sidewise smile. “So, you want a striptease, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Or is this just some nefarious plan of yours to see me naked?”
“Are you sure there isn’t alcohol in that coffee?”
“Why? Do you think I need to be drunk to tease you?” He wiped his mouth and signaled to Heath. “We’ll take the check.”
“Let me pay.”
He gave her a look. “Why would I do that when I’m the one who invited you out to eat?”
“You’ve been paying every time we’ve gone out.”
“And?”
And . . . she had nothing, other than him buying all the time made it seem very much like they were dating. Which they weren’t. At all. And never would be. As far as she was concerned, Drew was nothing more than a mannequin.
A very hot, extremely sexy, breathing, human mannequin.
Heath brought their check, Drew paid, and they left through the front door. The car pulled up and they climbed in.
“This poor driver has been at your beck and call all day. What a terrible Thanksgiving for him.”
“Jason has been very well paid for it, too, haven’t you, Jason?”
“Yes, sir. Making all my Christmas money off you today, Mr. Hogan.”
Drew laughed and leaned back in the seat.
When they got back to her apartment, Carolina took off her coat and stared at Drew, pondering what she’d like to see him in.
“I suppose the first thing I need to do is measure you.”
His eyes gleamed and she could read the dirty thoughts in his head as if he were telegraphing them from his brain directly to hers.
“No, not that. Already seen it.”
“Yeah, but one, you haven’t seen it in a very long time. And two, have you ever measured it?” He waggled his brows.
He was such a . . . guy. “Not necessary. But you could strip for me.”
“Now you’re talkin’.” He undid his belt and reached for the zipper of his pants.
If he thought she was going to balk, he was in for a surprise. In fashion, she dealt with naked or near naked models of both sexes all the time.
“I’ll go get my tape measure.”
She went upstairs and grabbed her supplies. As she came down the stairs, Drew was out of his boots and slipping out of his jeans.
She stopped midway down the stairs, a sudden vision of that drunken night at the dorm flashing into her head.
Her on the bed, watching as Drew took off his clothes, and vowing to remember that moment forever as every inch of his skin was revealed.
Just like now, as he pulled off his shirt, revealing a body she had spent hours exploring, and years remembering.
Except now that he’d stripped down to his boxers, she realized how much he’d changed since the last time. He’d been gorgeous then, a young man just waiting to fulfill his destiny.
Now he was the man she’d always known he’d become. His body had filled out, become leaner in spots, more muscled in others. And as she forced herself down the stairs and came closer, she realized he bore scars he hadn’t before, because she still remembered mapping that body all those years ago, touching every part of him, committing every inch of his skin to memory.
The scars only added to his attractiveness, made him seem more grown-up, and so much more a man.
He had a tattoo now as well, on the inside of his upper right biceps. Two hockey sticks, crossed, with a puck in the middle and flames shooting out from the sides. That hadn’t been there before. It added a very badass appeal to a very badass body.
She couldn’t help the sigh of pure feminine appreciation. And as her hand curled over the tape measure, she realized how very much she wanted to lay her hands on him.
Her hands trembled as she forcibly relaxed her fingers and straightened the tape measure.
How foolish she’d been to think she could dress him, that Drew was like any other model she’d measured—like any other man she’d had in her house—and that she could be oblivious to his male form as she touched and turned him in every conceivable way so she could get his measurements.
She could have had him come in for measurements when one of her assistants was here to deal with him, instead of now, at night, when they were alone together in her apartment, and he watched her with that predatory gleam she remembered all too well.
But he was here, and unclothed, so she’d just have to suck it up and deal with it.
She ran the tape measure across his shoulders. For someone whose body was so . . . hard, his skin was smooth as she pressed the tape from one end to the other. She remembered that night when the two of them were in a room alone together, both of them naked, his arms coming around her as he tugged her close.
The tape measure slipped from her fingers.
“Everything okay?” he asked.