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“I am a catch.”
She shrugged as if to say, we can agree to disagree, but suggested, “Let’s get back to basics. I have some tried-and-true questions that usually lead to good, safe answers. Shall we?”
Sounds boring as hell. “Lead on.”
“Puppies or kittens?”
“Neither. They both shed, vomit and shit all over the place.” I gestured to my penthouse suite. “Clearly, I value a clean space in which to entertain.”
“Hmm...do you like any sort of pet?”
I considered her question, but I really couldn’t think of anything. Living things were too much work. Unfortunately, I learned that the hard way when I was seven. RIP, poor Bubbles the goldfish. “No, not really.”
“Nothing?” she pressed, as incredulous as if I’d admitted I enjoy tripping old people in my spare time. “Not even a hamster or a rabbit?”
I smiled, wondering how far I could push Miss Hughes’s boundaries. I wasn’t above playing dirty either—because dirty was fun. I drew a breath as if in thought, then said, “I do enjoy games.”
“Oh? Like board games? Clue, Monopoly, that sort of thing?” she asked, cocking her head with curiosity. “Or like card games?”
“Have you ever heard of pony play?”
Her expression screwed into a cute mask of confusion. “Pony play? Like polo or something?”
I chuckled, enjoying this way more than I should, but I was hungry for that sudden blush that would follow my explanation. For a brief—and I’m talking nanosecond brief—moment, when the high color brightened her cheeks, she was almost pretty.
And I was curious just how far I could push.
I started to explain, using my hands for illustration. “Imagine a beautiful mane attached to a short, notched column and then imagine that column going straight up a lovely ass, held in place by the cheeks, then you fit your sweet horsey with a halter and a bit and if you’re lucky, you get to ride her all night.”
She gasped in shock, thrown off her game. Flustered, she shut off her recorder, shooting me a dark, exasperated look, but those cheeks were so hot I could fry an egg.
And holy fuck, miracle of miracles, she’d just rocketed past a level four and hit a solid seven.
“Mr. Donato...that...that...that’s disgusting.”
I laughed. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“And inappropriate. Like, really inappropriate for the purposes of this interview. I can’t go writing that you like to stick things up women’s asses and ride them like horses. I mean, c’mon!”
I pretended to be perplexed. “I thought you wanted something authentic. This is the real me. I believe my potential mate should share my open-minded views on sex. Otherwise we’re not going to make it. I’d rather be honest and up-front from the start, don’t you think? Imagine all the pain and heartache we’d both suffer if I wasn’t honest and then when we discover we’re incompatible sexually, it’s nothing but tears and accusations. I’ve seen it too many times. Honesty is the best policy when it comes to sex. If you haven’t learned that yet, you will.”
I’d caught her neatly with seemingly earnest logic, and there wasn’t much she could say to refute my point.
Lauren pursed her lips as if holding back what she really wanted to say. Go ahead girl, let loose. Tell me what a perverted dick I am. I wanted to push all her buttons. “Mr. Donato—”
“Please call me Nico. Mr. Donato is so formal and boring. Besides, when I hear Mr. Donato, I immediately look for my oldest brother, Luca, or my father—both are giant killjoys, if you know what I mean, and I’m nothing like either of them.” I settled my gaze on her with intrigue and fluttered my fingers suggestively as I followed with, “Tell me, what taboo sexual act gets you all revved up? Surely, there’s something that gets the home fires burning...”
But instead of taking the bait, she narrowed her gaze and shut me down with a hard “May I speak frankly?”
This ought to be interesting. I gestured with magnanimous flourish. “Please do.”
“I know you have a reputation for being a playboy—”
“I have a reputation?” I repeated, pretending to be concerned. “Tell me...are they talking about my cock? Pardon my bluntness, but if they are saying it’s anything less than a full eight inches, they are lying through their damn teeth.”
Lauren ignored my provocative statement and pushed forward, saying, “Your reputation as a Lothario precedes you, Mr. Donato,” deliberately using my formal title rather than my name. “But I’m here to interview you as an eligible bachelor—an interview you agreed to, if I may remind you, so if you wouldn’t mind at least pretending to take this seriously, we can finish with the interview and I’ll be on my way. How does that sound?”
Now it was my turn to be annoyed. What would it take to knock loose the stick wedged up her ass? Even as she was determined to keep me at arm’s length and locked out, the subtle widening of her eyes gave away more than she knew—and that fired up my need for more.
“How about dinner, tonight?” I proposed, imagining what she might look like if her hair wasn’t pulled to the back of her skull like a nun’s visiting the pope.
“No, thank you,” she answered, pursing her lips with irritation. “The interview, please.”
Such a dogged sense of duty. I released a sigh and leaned back, motioning for her to continue. “Fine. I’ll answer your questions but only if you’ll answer mine.”
“That’s not how this works.” Exasperation colored her voice but not to the level I imagined she was feeling. If I were a betting man, I’d say Lauren Hughes wanted to hog-tie me, land a swift kick to my nuts and stuff my silk tie down my throat.
Not the usual response I received from women.
And, fuck me, I liked it.
The game we were playing had just leveled up.
CHAPTER THREE
Lauren
I PINNED NICO with a pointed gaze, my patience at its thinnest, realizing that my instincts were correct and that this interview was a waste of my time. Patrice could find a different person to dance in circles with this egomaniac. “I’m not here to play games. If you’d like to reschedule for when you’re feeling less like an immature jerk, please let me know.” I rose and shouldered my purse, ready to leave.
“Hold up,” Nico said, managing to hustle fast enough to catch me before I walked out the door. “I’m sorry. What can I say? I’m an immature jerk at times. Would you believe you make me nervous? Can we start over?”
I make him nervous? I wasn’t su
re I bought that line, but there was something vaguely earnest about his statement that made me pause. If I could salvage this interview, it would work in my favor, but there was something about Nico that set my teeth on edge. Still, my life would be ten times easier if I could manage to get this story filed, and I couldn’t do that without his interview. I blew out a short breath before relenting with a wary, “You promise to behave?”
His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, but he managed a very solemn “Scout’s honor”—which was laughable in itself but at least he’d tried to apologize, right? I supposed I could give him another chance.
“I sincerely doubt you’ve ever been a Scout in your life,” I murmured, settling on the sofa again; but when he joined me on the same sofa, I narrowed my gaze, suspicious all over again. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable over there?” I motioned to his previous seat.
“Actually,” he said with mild embarrassment, “I have a hard time hearing in my left ear—sailing accident when I was a kid—so in all seriousness, if we’re going to do this, I need to sit a bit more closely.”
I felt a bit sheepish as my mouth shaped an embarrassed moue and nodded. “Okay, then.” Nico waited patiently while I fished my recorder from my purse, ready to start again. “Describe your perfect date,” I proposed, thrusting the recorder toward Nico with an expectant expression.
He didn’t hesitate. “Sex. Dirty, sexy, sweaty sex.”
Oh, good grief. Was it too much to ask to get a PG-13 answer from the man? “Can you perhaps give me something to work with? I can’t write that all it takes to make a perfect date in your book is lots of sex.”
“Why not? It’s the truth,” he said, and this time I could tell he was being completely honest. I stiffened against the unwelcome and inappropriate thrill that chased my spine as he added, “It’s the best way to get to know someone.”
I hesitated, trying to decide which way to proceed. My gut said to pack up and leave, but I was genuinely curious as to why he believed in his answer. Curiosity killed the cat, remember? And yet, I challenged for the sake of argument, “Seriously? Pardon me if I call bullshit. Don’t you find that just a little shallow?”
