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“Most women like the money,” he says, killing the engine.
“Which means you can’t ever know if a woman wants you for you or for your money. There’s a reason you’re what, thirty-five or thirty-six, judging by your career, and either divorced or never married.”
“Thirty-six,” he says, turning to me. “Never married and never plan to be married. I don’t believe in marriage.”
“Then I guess we are perfect for each other,” I say.
“Are we now?”
“For tonight,” I confirm, and when his lips quirk, eyes lighting, I quickly add, “That’s not a challenge.”
“Of course not,” he says, and there is the distinct vibe radiating off him that he knows something I don’t know.
“What does that mean?”
“Whatever I make it mean,” he says, giving a low chuckle before he adds, “I’ll come around and get you,” and he’s already exiting the car, clicking the locks before he departs. I turn to my door and try to open it, but it won’t budge. Frowning, I try again, and still it won’t move. Nick grabs the door and opens it, and I twist around to get out, and to go right along with the rest of my day, my skirt catches on my heel. Much to my distress, as I rotate to face him, the slit down the middle of my dress tears straight to my bare-naked crotch.
I gasp, and as much as I want to cover myself, my heel and my skirt are still not where they should be. But when embarrassment would kick in, Nick is suddenly squatting in front of me, his hands on my knees, his gaze sliding to my sex, lingering and then lifting to mine, the connection stealing my breath.
“If you’re trying to seduce me,” he says, his expression all hard lines and passion, before he adds, “it’s working.”
It’s cold outside, and I am warm all over. “I… That wasn’t the idea.”
He leans in and kisses my leg just above my thigh high, and then, to my shock, he leans in and licks my clit, and then he’s doing this slow teasing swirly thing with his tongue, and now I really can’t breathe. I brace myself on the dash, and just when I think I might melt right here in this car, Nick pulls back and stands, taking me with him.
I pant with the impact. “You can’t keep doing that to me,” I whisper. “Seriously. That is—”
He leans in and kisses me, hand at the back of my head, his tongue now doing that same slow, sexy tease he’d just done in much more intimate places, before he speaks: “I won’t stop next time. That’s a promise.”
Chapter Nine
Faith
Nick laces his fingers with mine and guides me away from the car, shutting the door. Somehow, though, instead of walking forward, we’re standing toe to toe again, and when our eyes meet, there is this flutter that turns into heat radiating across my chest and down my arm to where our fingers touch. To where he holds my hand, and with all I have dared sexually, with good and bad outcomes, with all I know he will dare of me, this is still what affects me.
“You hold on to me like you think I’m going to run,” I murmur. “You wouldn’t be here if that were my plan.”
“I hold on to you like a man who doesn’t want to stop touching you.” He reaches up and caresses my cheek, the touch tender, my body reacting, my breasts heavy, my nipples puckered under the lace of my bra. That flutter in my chest repeats. “Let’s go inside where I don’t have to,” he adds.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
His lips curve. “Please.”
“I’m polite, too,” I say, but I don’t add anything about my mother teaching me right, because she did not. My father did.
“I wonder if you’ll be so polite when I finally get you naked.”
“Don’t count on it,” I say, and it’s meant to be playful, but there is this pulse of adrenaline in me that makes it more raspy and needy.
He knows it, too. I see it in the darkening of his eyes. “Come,” he says, draping his arm around my shoulders and turning us toward the door, leaving my hands free to tug his jacket around all my gaping, naked places, while I’m thinking about being truly naked with this man. And with each step we take, I am aware of how our legs move together, hips aligned. How he holds me close, touching me just as he said: like he doesn’t want to stop touching me.
We’ve just reached the eight steps leading to the dimly lit porch when my cellphone rings in his jacket pocket, I’m still wearing and I stop dead in my tracks. “Oh no,” I say, digging in the pocket. “I didn’t send Josh that text. It’s going to be him, and where is my phone? I can’t find it, but I hear it.”
Nick moves to the step in front of me, and he reaches in the opposite pocket from the one I’m struggling with, retrieving my phone, which has stopped ringing. “Thank you,” I say, reaching for it, and I have no idea how this man handing me my cell has turned into something sexual, but he’s holding it and my hand.
“I still don’t have you inside the house,” he murmurs softly, walking backward to lead me to the porch, only steps away from the door. “I still don’t have you naked.”
And that’s when my phone starts to ring again.
