Page 10 of The Groupie

She aims those spectacular eyes at me for a beat, and I have no idea what she’s going to say, but my pulse picks up, waiting to hear it.

“You’re something else Zak. What you have going on here is gold.” She blows out a breath, then lies back on the pillow next to me and sinks into it.

I let out a short chuckle. “You’re not so bad yourself. In fact, I think you win our unofficial competition.”

“Gracious of you to admit it.”

“You admit we were competing?”

Her mouth curves in a lazy smile, and she swats me. “Life is a competition whether we admit it or not.”

I nod and wonder where she came from—then stop myself before I wonder where she’s been all my life. Because that’s stupid. She’s a one-night-only hookup. She’s a stranger, and she’s going to stay that way no matter how intriguing, no matter how compelling, no matter how much my dick cries bloody hell.

After taking turns cleaning up in the bathroom, this is where I would normally say good night and send her on her way. Instead, I return to bed and slip in next to her. She doesn’t look any readier than I feel for this night to end.

“What are you smiling about?” I ask because I know the answer and need to hear her admit it like a proud conqueror, like an ass.

“You’re as good as your word. You made me forget all about my ankle.”

Her words settle through me like a shot of well-being. This must be what an addict feels like when they get that fix they’re desperate for. I could become addicted to her if…. But there’s no danger of that. One night only.

“I’m glad. How’s the ankle now?” It strikes me that her answer matters as I wait for it.

“I’m not sure. I’m not moving it—letting sleeping dogs lie and all that.”

“Good plan for now. But if you start feeling it again, let me know. I’ll get you more ice.”

“You’re such a good host.” She laughs. “Are you in the hospitality business?”

“No.” I’m on my side facing her while she lies on her back, sheets tangled around her middle, breasts exposed and tempting me. I lean down to kiss each nipple.

She half laughs, half groans, her fingers running through my hair. “What do you do?”

I raise my head. “What?” I don’t like this question. The specter of the Bachelor of the Year secret shame being exposed rises. To distract her, I dip my head again to kiss her, but she stops me.

“What do you do?” Her eyes, bright and compelling and expectant, force me to answer her.

I can’t explain why, but she makes me feel like I owe her an answer, like we have an intimate connection that requires it. Which is crazy because no matter how much intimacy we’ve shared tonight, it’s only for tonight. Right?

“I’m a … banker. Boring, but there’s money in it.” A banker? Could I have come up with a more ridiculous lie? I’m not into lying, obviously. And I don’t want to get into it. Guilt tightens my chest, and I clam up. My mind goes blank when I need it to come up with a new subject. Fuck. I don’t know what the hell she thinks, whether she believes me or not, but her smile goes saucy, and she clears her throat.

“I’m so sorry I brought up such a boring subject. How about if we talk about where you’re ticklish?”

Relief loosens the tightness in my chest. “Go for it. I’m not ticklish. But I’ll enjoy you touching me.”

She promptly tests my belly with the lightest, most sensitive touch I’ve ever felt, and damn, my gut clenches in a ticklish spasm. Oh my God. She’s so hot and so tuned to me. I needed the subject changed, and she changes it. But fuck, she’s tickling me, and I’m not supposed to be ticklish. I spasm again, more intensely.

“Stop. You win. Uncle,” I half laugh between my words.

“You admit I’m the best in the world?”

“Whatever you want, Buttercup. You are the best. In the whole damn world.”

I turn on her, pinning her down underneath me, taking no chances as I hold her two wrists above her head. “How is it possible? How could you create a ticklish spot I’ve never had before?”

She licks her lips, one of the many ways she taunts me. Her very existence, her breathing, her scent, every damn thing about her reaches out and grabs me by the balls, making me want her.

“The trick is,” she says in a whisper, “to barely touch the fine hairs on your body and move them just a whisper to activate the most intense sensors.”