“You’re nowhere close to the definition of sober,” I scold.
She glares at me, her nose scrunching and lips pouting. It can’t be healthy that I get this fucking turned on by her being frustrated with me.
“I can prove it,” she says, glancing around the cabin. To her right, a pile of scripts and pens sits atop the entryway credenza. Reese’s eyes flit back to me mischievously before she reaches over and grabs a pen. “Would a drunk person be able to sign their own name perfectly? I don’t think so.”
“I’m certain you can autograph in your sleep,” I chuckle at her terrible argument.
Ignoring me, Reese nudges the cuff of my sleeve without letting go of my hand, revealing my wrist. She finds a patch of clear skin between my tattoos and presses the pen’s tip into me.
“Who should I make it out to?” she asks with a smirk.
Fucking hell. Is this seriously happening? Is Reese Sinclair about to write her name on my skin? I almost can’t speak. “Your biggest fan.”
She steadies her grip, the sharp point of the pen digging into me. My blood races, the flesh hot as if the black ink is brandingme. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck and into the collar of my shirt. I’m so fucking hard I might actually explode.
No. Absolutely not. Don’t come. Don’t you dare come in your trousers while she’s signing her name onto your skin.
There will be nothing more pathetic than that. Fuck.
Once Reese finishes her handiwork, I manage a deep breath. She holds up her neat script for me to see.To my biggest fan, xo Reese Sinclair.
My mouth dries.
“How’s that for having all of my faculties in order?” she quips.
“Reese,” I beg.
“You like how that looks, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Well, I like these rings you wear,” she murmurs in her honeyed voice. “I like them so very much.” She grabs my hand, gaze fixed on my pointer finger as she inspects the silver band. When her plush lips press against the metal, a jolt shoots straight down my spine to my already hard cock. The intimacy of it makes my throat tight. Her eyes connect with mine, and she pulls away. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing more I want to do than get carried away with you right now. Pin you against this wall and kiss every smart thing you’ve ever said to me off your damn lips,” I say through a hoarse throat. “You have no idea how little I want to be a gentleman toward you right now.”
“I want that too.”
“Not like this,” I say, lowering my voice. “You want to know what it’s like to be with me? Then I want you to feel everything I do to you.” Reese moves like smoke before me, all heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips. “That means waiting. Forbothof us. Can you do that?” I exhale hard through my teeth. “You have no idea how easy you are to need, Reese.”
She deserves a clear head and clean memories.
“Can you help me get more comfortable?” She spins in front of me, and her fingers fumble with the dress. “If that doesn’t violate yourgentlemanliness?”
“It does not.”
I hold my breath and brush her hair off her back. The zipper slides down with agonizing slowness. I force my touch to remain clinical—professional, as sober Reese would want it to be—even as the sight of her exposed skin makes the need in my blood burn.
“Your touch feels so nice,” she exhales with a moan.
I’m going to die in this delicious hell she’s put me in.
Once the dress is unzipped, I force myself to turn around and give her some privacy. But in a breath, Reese appears in front of me.
And, fuck, there she is. In my gift, which has transformed into pure torture. Her curves, the untamed waves of hair, the smudged lipstick. I clench my fists, my cock trapped in my trousers. Now this…I don’t know if I have enough self-control left.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your gift,” she says with a slow twirl of her hair and that same lip bite from her little seduction act at the beach. “I don’t want you to think I have terrible manners, Dante.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
