AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You were awfully quick to accept that offer.”
“I know a good deal when I see one,” he said offhandedly. “On three?”
She nodded once, biting down on her tongue while trying not to grin, because she had something up her sleeve…literally. “On three.”
“One.” He undid another button, and she gripped the hem of her shirt. “Two.” Another button, and she fisted the shirt she’d thrown on this morning. “Three.” He shrugged off his jacket, and she tore her shirt over her head. He sucked in a breath and dropped the gray jacket as if it meant nothing to him. “Jesus.”
She let go of her sweater, laughing and glancing down at the skin-tight camisole she wore underneath. “I never said I didn’t have another shirt underneath.”
“I was well aware of the fact that you did,” he said, staring at her as if he’d like nothing more than to pull her into his arms and convince her to remove this shirt, too. She pressed a nervous hand to her stomach. “If that even qualifies as a shirt, that is.”
She glanced down, heart racing, at her see-through camisole tank top. She’d forgotten about that, and her sheer black bra clearly showed. “Of course it is.” Then she gestured toward his plain white, short-sleeved, button-up shirt, hoping to take the attention off her breasts. “And what’s so wrong with that shirt?”
“There’s no royal crest, and it’s short-sleeved,” he said matter-of-factly, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I have to wear long sleeves in public.”
“Even in summer?”
“Yes.” He undid the top button of his dress shirt. “And it has to be buttoned up, too.” Watching her closely, he undid the second button, revealing a light dusting of dark chest hair. “It’s very important.” And then the third button came undone.
She whistled through her teeth, trying her best not to drool, but probably failing miserably, because God, he looked good enough to eat. “Rebel.”
“For you.” He undid the last button, leaving his shirt hanging open in a casual manner. “I can try to be.” He grabbed the hem. “I was, once.” He paused, staring at her mouth. Something told her he didn’t even realize he did it—but that didn’t make her reaction any less powerful. “Okay, twice.”
She licked her lips, her eyes on his rock-hard pecs. Under those were six perfectly defined and toned abs. It took all her control not to reach out and touch them, especially since he wouldn’t mind if she did. In fact, he’d probably like it. “Twice?”
“The hallway in that nightclub.” He stepped closer, his chest rising and falling, and smoothed her hair off her bare shoulder. His fingers lingered over her skin, teasing her, making her ache to beg him to stop being such a gentleman and take what he wanted so she wouldn’t have to resist him anymore. “I never have sex in public, with a woman who may or may not go tell the press about it afterward. The risk is higher than the reward. But then I saw you…”
Thank God you did.
Wait. What?
She exhaled, slightly out of breath, watching him with a hunger that couldn’t be denied. “And you broke all your rules for a stranger in a mask.”
“Yeah, but only because I knew who you were.” He skimmed his finger down her bare arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. His gentle, featherlight touch sent shivers down her spine, and even though she shouldn’t, she swayed toward him when he dipped his head down, his gaze locked on her mouth. Her heart sped up, and her limbs grew weak and shaky, and she knew, she just knew, he was going to kiss her, and she was powerless to stop him.
Thank God.
She bit down on her lip, placed a hand on his bare, hard, hot chest, not even bothering to pretend to push him away. His chest hair felt so crisp against her fingers, and she ached to close her fist over it and tug him closer until he did it. Until he kissed her. “Leo…”
His lips stopped a mere breath from hers, and he tensed. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pulled back, no longer on the verge of kissing her. Relief and disappointment warred within her for control. She declined to say which of them won.
But she kind of wanted to punch him.
Chapter Thirteen
That had been a close call. He’d been so careful not to press her, not to try to sweep her away in his arms again, with kisses and broken promises. He’d done that to her once, and he refused to do it again. She’d been clear when she’d agreed to spend time with him that all she wanted from him was friendship.
And he was okay with that.
But if he wanted any chance at something more than a night in bed together, he had to play his cards right. Time was running out, and she’d be going back to America soon, but that didn’t have to be the end of their relationship. Not this time.
This time, he’d fucking write.
And text.
And call.
If he had his way, this friendship was the start of a lifelong commitment of some sort—though he wasn’t sure what type of relationship he was looking for yet.
