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She shook her head. “That’s not true. Why would I not want to . . . ” She looked around, but she didn’t have to finish her sentence. They both knew what she was talking about.
Why wouldn’t she want him to give her an orgasm?
He tilted his head. “At this point, I can only guess, but I’d say . . . because you don’t want a man to have that kind of power over you. Not again.”
She snorted. “It can’t just be that biologically I can’t get there? It’s not as unusual as you and most men seem to think. Now, stop analyzing me. I’ve made my counteroffer, and that’s the only thing on the table in terms of me granting youanytime with me. So what’s your answer?”
He held her gaze. “Two chances to make you come?”
She nodded.
“What’s to say you won’t lie? Have an orgasm and say you didn’t?”
For a long moment, she simply stared at him. “Really? Is that possible?”
“With your spine of steel, who knows, princess?”
She actually smiled at that. Then she held a pinkie out. “I pinkie swear.”
He chuckled and wrapped his pinkie in hers. “I know enough about women to know this is a serious promise.”
“Then is that a yes?”
Two chances to strip Skylar naked. Two chances to bury his tongue in her pussy and lap at her juices. Two chances for her to destroy his silk sheets, two chances for her to wake up the neighbors with her screams, two chances to drive into her with her exposed tits pressed against the windows for all of goddamn NYC to see.
But no chance, at least inhermind, to get to the bottom of the mysterious Skylar McKenzie.
And yet . . . if she came apart for him, he’d know her better than any man ever had. And making her come would just be the beginning.
He extended his hand, and Skylar slipped hers in, then squeezed. They shook as their eyes reflected their mutual arousal. He’d have to take what he could get for now.
She thought all he wanted was her body.
Hell, maybe she was right because while he wanted to solve the mystery she represented, he wasn’t walking away from her without getting her under him first.
“We should exchange contact information,” she said, pulling out her phone. After getting his number, she texted him her email and work number. He did the same for her.
“When do we start?” he asked, giving her his most devilish grin.
Shaking her head, Skylar reached across him, grabbed his martini glass, and finished it without flinching. She placed the glass roughly back on the bar and swiped a hand across her glistening lips.
“Notwhen,” she said, pupils blown wide as she looked at him, arousal as obvious in her eyes as her hard nipples straining against her white blouse. “Now.”
* * *
Somehow,Julian had snagged a penthouse with a view of Central Park in a brick building that may be old but had been retrofitted in an intriguing mélange of modern and antique. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with intriguing collectible objects, photos, and awards. The furniture was sturdy but comfortable—crushed velvet couches, leather chairs, and handmade wooden tables. Pendant lights in black cast iron with Edison bulbs hung from high ceilings.
The penthouse was an open concept with a living room, dining area, and kitchen all flowing into one, the spaces delineated by tall Greek columns. Off to the side was an antique writing desk with a computer, an antique Smith-Corona, and stacks of papers with his scribbled handwriting all over them. A hall leading from the living room likely led to his and the guest bedrooms.
In her mind, she’d imagined him either in a funky walkup with old wallpaper or some ultra-modern and gleaming townhouse. But this?
She loved the space. Who wouldn’t?
Having gotten a general view of everything, she wandered and took in the details. All too quickly, however, she realized how quiet it was.
Apparently, while she’d been taking in Julian’s living space, he’d walked to the bar cart against the brick wall. He didn’t look back at Skylar. Didn’t pour himself a drink. Didn’t offer to pour her one.
Why was he so still? So silent?
