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Chapter Ten
Nate
Iconvinced Vivian to ride with me, promising to have her back to her car at the art institute by morning. She told me I was presumptuous, I admitted I was, and then she gave me a foxy little smile before sliding into the passenger seat of my Tesla.
On the way to my place, we don’t talk much. The moment I confessed to her that we’re all lonely sometimes wasn’t a scripted attempt to draw her from her shell, or point out my own weakness. It was the truth. And whenever Vivian’s around, I find myself being more honest than I need to be. I’m glad I made the admission, though. Without it, I doubt she would have let me kiss her. Or agreed to come home with me.
She’s given up resisting me. For the moment.
Me? I have no interest in resisting her. She may be the flame to my hapless moth, but I have a feeling the burn will be worth it.
The car ride is torture. Her legs are distracting, especially in a peekaboo skirt cut at different lengths. One moment she’s covered, the next she moves her leg and the material slips and gives me a view of one supple thigh.
I weld my teeth together and force my attention on the road. I absolutely cannot wait to have her naked.
Presumptuous or not, she’s coming to bed with me tonight. Not because I’m an arrogant prick accustomed to having his way—though, arguably, I am—but because Vivian takes what she wants. I respect the hell out of that approach. It’s one I use often.
Inside, I hang my keys on a silver hook by the door. Hands in my pockets, I follow behind her, trying to see what she’s seeing for the first time.
The foyer opens to the living room, the tall ceiling extending all the way up to the second floor. The living room and staircase are divided by huge panes of glass framed in black and complemented by glass coffee and side tables. The flooring is textured brown wood, which “lends the space warmth,” according to my decorator. A modern cream-colored sofa with bold navy blue decorative pillows invites anyone to sit, the shag rug beneath it begging you to slip off your shoes and wiggle your toes.
Vivian does that next, after sinking onto a couch cushion and unstrapping her shoes. “These are the worst.”
Her forehead pinches as she reaches for her foot. She didn’t wear the shoes I bought her. I suspect that was intentional. She’s built her guard sky-high, and she wouldn’t want to flatter me too much. On the plus side, she anticipated seeing me tonight. Maybe even when picking out her dress. I like that I was on her mind.
I sit next to her and take the opportunity to touch her. She has one leg crossed over the other and I slide my hand around her foot. When she doesn’t stop me, I dig my thumb into her arch. She moans.
“Lie back,” I say. “You won’t be sorry.”
Her narrowed eyes hint she’s going to challenge me, but her smile disagrees. Adjusting her skirt, and giving me another glimpse of her mouthwatering thighs, she props herself on a fat down pillow. I make myself comfortable too, and lift her feet to my lap. I start with her right one and begin to rub. Thumb to arch, then up to the wide part beneath her toes.
Her eyelids shut and she sighs. She actually seems relaxed. A rare look on her. Have I ever seen her not on the move? At dinner, she sat, but she was ducking and dodging constantly. Not now.
“As foreplay goes, this won’t get you far.” A smile plays at the corners of her lush mouth. She’s putting me through my paces.
The kiss earlier was too brief. I’m already nostalgic for her flavor. Martini be damned, her taste was more like rich, velvety white chocolate. Or maybe I’m thinking of the heady vanilla scent of her perfume.
“I’ll fall asleep on you and then where will you be?” she murmurs sleepily.
“In that case, I’ll carry you upstairs,” I answer.
Her dark eyes open. She studies me carefully. “To tuck me in?”
Was that longing I heard in her voice? Does she crave connection as much as I do? Is she using me to feel less lonely? Do I mind being used?
Hell, no.
“Of course,” I answer.
“You’d let me sleep in your bed all by my lonesome?” I can’t tell if she’s sincerely asking or flirting with me some more.
“Sorry.” I dip my voice as I massage her foot. “Women don’t go to my bed without me.”
“How noble.”
Her mouth is good for more than kissing. She’s sass and class. Wrapped up in a reduced-price department-store dress and shoes that hurt her feet. I want to clothe her in the finest satin and lavish her with gifts. If you haven’t picked up on it, I’m a family guy who likes to take care of people. That said, I’m not usually this taken by a woman. This one already has me in knots.
“You can’t bribe me, you know.”
