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I don’t reply to that. I’m sure some of the men I’ve known would insist it is.
“Still not sure?” he asks.
I give a soft laugh. “I’m nervous, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t done this before. In fact, I haven’t been with anyone for a while. And I’m…”
He lifts his eyebrows.
I bite my bottom lip. “I’m quite… freckly. I mean, all over.” I’m embarrassed now, but after the reaction of the last guy I went to bed with—who stared at me as if I’d covered myself in Brussels sprouts—I feel the need to warn him.
He blinks, then his eyes glow with sultry desire. “Are you trying to turn me on?”
I laugh and push him. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not. I promise to kiss every single freckle on your body if you come with me.”
“Jesus. That would take you all night.”
“I’m not in any rush.”
That, and the promise of three orgasms—three! Jesus, seriously? Is he for real?—has nearly eroded all my reservations.
“Have I convinced you yet?” he asks. I wait for him to look impatient, but he just seems amused. “I could put you over my shoulder in a firefighter’s lift and carry you up there, if that helps.”
Wait, did I just giggle? I’ve drunk more than I realized. But I’m sick of being the one who misses out on all the fun. Who gets everything secondhand. Who’s constantly told she doesn’t deserve nice things. I want this guy. Oh man, I want him bad.
“Did you eat a big dinner tonight?” he asks, kissing my nose.
“What?”
He brushes lips against mine, making them tingle. “We’re going to be expending some serious energy. You need to keep your strength up.”
I feel a little faint. “Do you like it rough then?”
He tips his head from side to side. “I think a more accurate description might be enthusiastic.” He smiles.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, any remaining reservations rapidly vanishing, “I would love to have enthusiastic sex with you.”
That makes him laugh, and he moves back, takes my hand, and heads off along the pavement, pulling me with him. “Come on.”
As we walk, he says, “Who’s your best friend?”
I’m beginning to get used to his strange questions. “Ah, her name’s Louise.”
“Why don’t you text her, and tell her where you’re going?”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know me, and I want you to feel safe, and it might make you less nervous.” His hand tightens on mine.
Smiling, I take out my phone and pull up a text. “Where are we going?”
He points ahead. Across the road is the Queen’s Hotel, a five-star, extremely classy establishment. I should know. I used to sleep in a doorway nearby, and I’ve watched the rich businessmen and other classy guests coming and going into the brightly lit interior.
“Wow. Okay.”
