His nose brushes mine, and I shiver as I grip the front of his shirt.
“That’s one explanation. A cynical one, of course, but I’ve come to expect that from you. Maybe I want to kiss you. Find out how your lips taste.”
“Then why don’t you just do it?”
“Because I promised I wouldn’t without your permission, and honestly, you’re too out of it right now to give informed consent.”
I lean my head against his, so desperate, the ache inside me borders on painful. “Then why are you still torturing me?”
He angles my head the other way, keeping his mouth tantalizingly out of reach.
“Because I wanted you to understand that what you’re feeling right now ... this euphoria ... this is where the essence of romance lives. Have you ever felt this way with any of your sexual partners?”
“Hell, no.” I’ve never felt this with anyone. It’s like every single nerve ending is being magnetically drawn to him, so desperate for contact it’s painful to deny.
He makes a needful sound in his throat. “Then maybe you should move onto a better class of man. One who doesn’t treat you like a vending machine. One you’re genuinely attracted to instead of one who’s just convenient.”
I’m so blurred by hormones and pain killers, it takes me a moment to notice he’s moved off the couch and is now staring down at me. I feel foolish when I realize I’m still pursing my lips, expecting contact.
I clear my throat and compose myself. My heart is hammering so hard, I’m sure he can hear it.
I look up at him. From the expression on his face, I don’t think I’m the only one feeling tortured right now. Then my focus lowers down to his crotch, and dear God ... the long hardness I can spy straining the denim of his jeans is not helping anything right now.
He follows my gaze. “In case you’re wondering, it’s exactly as painful as it looks.”
“You sure I can’t help you out?”
“I’m positive you could, but that would violate even more rules from my personal code of conduct, and considering I’ve already set a record for unprofessional behavior tonight, I’m going to leave.” He looks around the apartment. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”
I want to say his hand down my pants, but I don’t think that’s the type of thing he means.
“Maybe you could take off your shirt and do some cleaning.”
He comes over and scoops me off the couch. “Or how about I put you into bed and stay with you until you fall asleep?”
He places me on the bed, and I wince as I turn on my side to get comfortable.
“I liked my idea better,” I say with a pout, as he pulls the covers over me. “Honestly, Max, you’re the worst shirtless-houseboy I’ve ever owned.” I yawn. “We’re going to have words at your next employee review.”
He chuckles as I close my eyes and start to fade. “Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Tate. I hope to please you more next time we meet.”
Unconsciousness begins to wrap me in soft grayness as I mumble, “You do that. More pleasing, less shirts. Your mistress demands it.”
I sink fast, but I’m still conscious enough to feel warm fingers brush my hair away from my face. “Goodnight, Eden. Sweet dreams.”
As soon as I hear the door to the apartment open and then close with a quiet click, I’m out.
*
“Sooooo,” Asha says the next morning as she spoons some scrambled eggs onto my plate. “I ran into a certain hot-bodied escort as I was coming home last night. Care to spill about what happened with him?”
“There’s nothing to spill. I hurt my back at the bar. He brought me home. End of story.”
“Oh, what crap, Eden. I saw his face when he arrived at the bar last night, and I saw it when he left our apartment. That man has it bad, so don’t tell me he didn’t get happy in his pants over you, because that’s a damn lie.”
I finish off my breakfast as quickly as possible. “Ash, come on. It’s too early for this.” Plus, I can’t tell you about Max, because that would make what I’m feeling for him way too real, and I’d rather just ignore it.
“Look, sis, I don’t want to make a big deal about this, but just between us ... how big a deal are we talking about?” She holds her hands five inches apart. “I’m just going to keep widening this gap, and you tell me when I’ve reached his Max-imum length, okay?”
I laugh as she keeps widening the gap. When she reaches what looks to be about nine inches, I raise my eyebrows, and she slaps the counter with both hands. “No way! Seriously?”
I walk around to wash up my plate. “Ash, I’m writing a story on him, and he’s sucking up to make sure I don’t crucify him. That’s it. We aren’t a thing. Please stop trying to make us one.”
“It is a thing if that man is carrying around a gargantuan boner for you. Don’t tell me you aren’t desperate to ride that fine piece of maleness.”
I kiss her on the cheek. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Eden! Have mercy! I’ve been waiting years for you to meet someone like him, and now you’re freezing me out? No fair!”
I can still hear her calling out to me when I close the door and head down the stairs. I’m halfway to the subway station when my phone buzzes with a message.
<How’s the back?>
I feel myself smiling and immediately force myself to stop. I also put a kibosh on the urge to text him right back. And that giant swarm of butterflies that just took flight in my stomach can bite me, too. Feeling this way over a guy is not on my to-do list today; or ever, for that matter.
Maybe he didn’t drug me, but he certainly isn’t playing fair. He knows how attractive I find him and is systematically wearing me down so he can claim victory on our bet. Well, he’ll soon come to learn that conning a woman who slaps down dozens of romantic fantasies before breakfast is going to be harder than he thinks.
I hit my favorite caffeine supplier near the subway station and get myself a big, fat triple-shotter. I need coffee like air this morning. Even with the muscle relaxants and alcohol, I didn’t sleep well. I kept having dreams that Max was in bed with me, all hard and warm and smelling like a spring orchard, touching me like I was precious and making me feel like I could do anything as long as he was by my side. It was the closest thing to a nightmare I’ve had in years.
The only good to come out of it is that it kept me tossing and turning enough to make sure my back didn’t seize up, and even though I get twinges of pain if I bend the wrong way, on the whole I’m feeling much better this morning.
By the time I get to work the coffee has hit my system hard, and I practically bound through the doors to see Toby.
“Good morning, friend!” I hug his back as he continues typing on his keyboard.
“Good morning, friend-who-never-hugs-me-unless-she-wants-something. What can I do for you this fine day?”