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She blushed but held his gaze. The endearment, a byproduct of Southern charm, called up the memory of Presley’s honey-sweet skin.
“You make what could be a very snooty town seem laidback.” She sipped her tea before adding, “Comfortable.”
So despite his attempts to be prickly, she saw right through him. He questioned the wisdom of seducing her after all, especially given how observant she was when it came to him.
Didn’t change the fact that he wanted her. Badly. Lately, it’d been all he could think about, which was risky for him considering she was keen to ferret out his secrets. Letting her close could be disastrous for his career—and for another part of him he didn’t want to examine too closely.
She straightened the center of her top and jostled those gorgeous breasts, and he told his second thoughts to go to hell. Some fires were worth the burn.
“Am I hogging your writing spot?” She sounded sincere. Like he’d come out here to reprimand her. She likely had no idea how she’d affected him this week, while she wore next to nothing or hell, even when she’d worn something. Her understated beauty had always been his weakness.
Frustrated, and not only sexually, he let her know exactly what he thought of her sunbathing in his “writing spot.”
“Yes,” he answered. “You’re hogging my spot.”
Her eyebrows flew up. He’d surprised her. He was about to surprise her more.
“I like it. I have liked it every day since you started coming out here. Wearing that tiny bathing suit, on your back, your hair spread around you like a fiery halo.”
“Oh.” Her mouth dropped open softly. He smiled. He’d been right. She had no idea how she tempted him.
“Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?”
He wasn’t sure if she’d say yes or hell no, but a jolt of satisfaction shot down his arms when he asked. He missed taking risks. He’d played it safe since becoming famous, recent bogus DUI aside.
He hadn’t come this far to back off now. He was done resisting her.
“Sure,” she answered, appearing way less affected than he was. Of course, she probably wasn’t sitting here imagining licking him from head to toe the way he was imagining doing to her. “What’s the occasion?”
“You have questions for your article I haven’t answered. Figured we’d do it over dinner and get you out of this house. Into a nice dress. On the town.”
All true, but not his main motivation for tonight.
Her pink lips pulled into a smirk he was dying to lean in and kiss. “How nice does this dress have to be?”
“Bord du Lac is jacket required. They have a coat check. A sommelier. I can’t send you back to Tallahassee without experiencing the upper crust of Beaumont Bay.”
“Well, who am I to turn down a fancy dinner with a famous musician?” Like before, she’d tried to sound nonchalant, but the sentiment didn’t fly. He was too close to her to miss the excitement flickering in her eyes.
Eyes that dipped to his mouth and up again.
The glance was brief, but he’d noticed. Maybe she had been attempting to resist him after all. Trying to keep from fantasizing about him. There was a tantalizing thought.
She’d turned the elevator ride from hell into a slice of heaven the moment she’d kissed him back and pressed her body against his. If that happened now, he’d have a hard time not hiking her skirt up, pushing her back to the wall and begging her to take every inch of him.
It would be indecent. Inappropriate.
Fantastic.
“It’s a date,” he said, making sure there was no doubt in her mind what tonight was about. If she gave him a second chance to kiss her, he’d take that kiss as far as she’d allow. He let his eyes trail down her body before shaking his head gently. “Damn, Presley.”
Then he stood and went back inside before he changed his mind about tonight and attempted to seduce her right now.
Presley had successfully collected Hannah Banks’s phone number from Gavin. She’d told him she needed a woman’s advice on where to shop for a nice dress for the restaurant she’d be going to with Cash tonight.
Gavin had tried to placate her with, “It’s Beaumont Bay, not the Oscars. Wear a dress. Any dress,” To which Presley had replied, “Strapless or sleeves? Do I need a wrap? Is the air-conditioning usually cranked or is there outdoor seating? What about shoes? Are the floors shined to a fine polish, in which case I should skip the spiked heel in favor of a wedge, or—?”
That’s when he’d cut her off and shared Hannah’s number.
