“Not too close to the edge,” he murmurs.
A pleasant shiver runs through me at that velvety voice in my ear. His breath is warm and smells faintly of mint. If I turned my head my mouth might graze his cheek. I wonder how that stubbled jaw would feel beneath my lips.
“I won’t blow away in the wind,” I assure him. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know.” Softly. His thumb grazes an arc across my waist. “Doesn’t mean I want you to put yourself in danger.”
He walks us back a few steps and then releases me. I turn around and he’s right there and I have to tip my chin up to look at him. I’m still warm everywhere he was just touching me.
The air feels strangely thick between us.
I should take a step back. Right now we’re still in touching distance. It makes it hard to think clearly, especially when he’s looking at me like that, his gaze dipping to my lips. To my body.
“So you and I are definitely not going to have sex,” I say softly.
His eyes focus on mine, very still, very alert. Like I’ve said something that requires his complete attention.
“But does that mean…” I pick my words carefully, which is difficult when he’s standing this close and smells this good. “No sex at all?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You have a literal online fan club of women.” I look down at my boots. “Being with other people on the side… is that something you want as part of this arrangement?”
“No,” he says instantly. And then tension comes into his whole body as he asks, “Is that whatyouwant?”
“No,” I say, just as quickly.
His eyes flash fierce and possessive. “Good. I don’t share.”
Heat pools low in my stomach, making my skin feel too warm. I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing. Of exactly how long it’s been since anyone looked at me likethat.
“In any case,” he says, “it’s best not to give anyone ammunition. Hard to call it a real marriage if it gets out we’re not even faithful to each other.”
“So no sex, period. You really want to sign up for however many months of celibacy?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
It surprises me to hear that. He must have women throwing themselves at him constantly. Obviously the celibacy is a voluntary thing. I suppose it fits in with what I’ve learned of him so far: the rigid exercise and meal routines, the monk-like disregard for creature comforts. This is a man with extreme self-discipline, and abstaining from sex is probably part of focusing his energy.
What happens when all that focused energy is directedtowardssex instead?
I shiver involuntarily. I’m never going to find out. Which is for the best. It’s bad enough to get your heart broken; worse when you’re ruined for anyone else in bed.
The wind picks up and blows a strand of hair across my face again. Before I can push it away, Slade’s hand is there, tucking it back. His fingertips just barely trace the shell of my ear, and the sensation shimmers through every nerve ending in my body.
“What if you meet the girl of your dreams in the next year?” I ask breathlessly. Even though it’s the lightest graze of his fingertips on me, it’s enough to steal the air from my lungs. “It wouldn’t be fair to let something fake get in the way of something real.”
Now he’s gently tracing one of the gold helix piercings on my earlobe, seemingly fascinated by it. “It won’t be an issue,” he says.
“And if I meet the man of my dreams?” I tease.
At that, something heated and territorial moves through his expression before he veils it almost immediately.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a look of jealousy.
“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” he says gruffly, dropping his hand.
I can’t believe I’m seriously considering this.
