“That’s not a bad idea. I’d read your autobiography in a heartbeat.”
“Yeah, well, you’d be the only one.” I take a bite of my burger, give her a minute to figure out that she’s not going to be able to charm her way out of this one. Then I ask again, “So, what is it like?”
Her shoulders tense, and suddenly it’s like a switch flips inside of her. Gone is the friendliness of the last fifteen minutes and in its place…in its place is something else entirely. “Being attractive?”
I shoot her a look that tells her to knock off the bullshit. “Being Maxim’s sexiest woman alive seven of the last ten years. Topping Esquire magazine’s sexiest list. Making People’s Most Beautiful list every year for the last decade. Being number one on IMDB’s top one hundred sexiest actresses of all time.” I pause, take a very deliberate sip of my water. “Should I keep going?”
“No. I think I get it.” Her voice is about ten degrees cooler than it was and as she purses her lips, narrows her eyes, I’m reminded of a children’s fairy tale. The better to see—hear—eat—you with, my darling. “It feels exactly like you’d expect it to feel.”
The whole thing is very definitely a warning to lay off this line of questioning, but all it does is intrigue me. And solidify my belief that Veronica Romero would play the hell out of the big, bad wolf.
Too bad I’m not cut out for the role of Little Red.
“Gratifying?” I ask. “Claustrophobic? Unsafe?”
This time when she laughs, it sounds nothing like tinkling bells and everything like high-end sex. I try not to respond, but it’s pretty hard not to notice the way the sound goes straight to my cock like it was designed specifically to get me hard.
“Nothing about this business is safe,” she tells me. “I thought you’d be the last person I’d have to explain that to.”
“All that money, all those bodyguards, and you still don’t feel secure?” It’s a direct salvo, one that hits the mark judging from the way her shoulders tense and the dimple disappears completely. For a moment I mourn its loss, but then I’m too caught up in her transformation to think about anything else.
“Silly, Ian,” she all but purrs as she lightly traces one dark purple fingernail across the back of my hand. She’s dripping sensuality now, wearing her sex appeal like Perrault’s wolf wears its teeth and claws. “In this town, it’s not bodyguards that keep you safe.”
Her fingertip is gliding over the inside of my wrist now, stroking back and forth in a rhythm that takes my dick from semi-aroused to fully hard in seconds. Then again, maybe that’s the way she’s looking at me, eyes hooded, lips wet and parted, cheeks just a little bit flushed.
“So, what does?” I have to clear my throat twice before I can get the question out.
It’s her turn to lift a brow. “I would think that was obvious.” Then she’s sucking her lower lip between her teeth, biting down oh-so gently. Her breath hitches just a little and—fuck—so does mine, though I know exactly what she’s doing. Turns out being forewarned doesn’t always mean forearmed. “I keep myself safe.”
“Touché.” I make a concerted effort to keep my voice—and my hand—steady, even as desire pure, unadulterated lust sweeps through me. I ignore it, concentrating instead on the list of questions that I have memorized. “Before we were sidetracked, we were talking about your tendency toward improvisation—”
“But you already got your question,” she tells me, cutting me off. “Several questions, in fact. Now it’s my turn.”
I could push, considering she’s given me a non-answer to pretty much everything I’ve asked her so far. But she’s not the only one who knows how to play games at this table. “Ask away,” I answer, smiling broadly. “I’m an open book.”
“Why do people always say that like it’s a good thing?” she asks, and if possible, her voice is even huskier—even sexier—than it was just a few minutes ago. “An open book only shows you two random pages in the middle of the action. How is that supposed to tell you everything you want to know?”
“I guess that depends on the pages, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps it does at that.” She looks me over, her eyes lingering on my mouth, my chest, my hands. “What two pages are you going to use to portray me?”
“Whichever two you show me.”
She smiles at that and this time it is the man-slayer she’s so famous for. Her hand is at her throat, her fingers deliberately toying with the amethyst pendant that rests just between her breasts.
“That is exactly what I hoped you’d say.”
I try to ignore the sudden sensation of bite marks on my ass, but it’s not easy. Especially when it hits me that I’ve just lost the first battle of whatever game we’re playing.
Chapter 2
There’s a knock on the door, followed by a young, female voice calling, “We’re ready anytime you are, Ms. Romero.”