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He continues to look at me, and that wide mouth of his curves up, making my insides quiver. “So, what do you want to do?”
“I guess art? Like, I know the world is full of great photographers, but I like people and buildings and the simple things. I like making something from the mundane.”
My cheeks heat.
Back home my friends are into guys and makeup and clothes. They never got me because I wasn’t. But he looks at me like what I’m saying interests him, and that’s thrilling.
I’ve dated, fooled around, but I’m at home in a simple dress or jeans, and a swipe of mascara and I’m ready to go. He makes me want to dress up.
No.
Nicolo makes me feel like I’m dressed up.
And I want him to undress me.
I suck in a sharp breath at that thought.
“You’re blushing,Tesoro.” He smirks.
“What is that word?”
“Italian.”
He doesn’t explain, and I don’t push it. His phone lights up and he glances at it, then at me.
“What are you doing later?”
“Later?”
“After work.”
There’s something about a man who’s so laid back, relaxed, and confident. “I . . . nothing. I mean, tomorrow I have a full day at the studio, but—”
“Dinner? Just something small.”
“Dinner? As what, friends?” I swallow.
His gaze heats as it moves over me. “Fuck no. I’m not pigeonholing a thing when I meet a beautiful woman, Avah. I think you’re hot.” Then he smiles. “Like every man in here. However, I’m capable of being a gentleman, of sorts, and I’d like to get to know you, show you around, and maybe see you home. What time do you get off?”
“I . . . seven?” I find myself surprised by his straightforwardness.
“I’ll be outside. It’s up to you.”
Then he stands, and I have to lift my chin to look up at him. Oh, good God, is he one hell of an Adonis-type specimen of a man. I’m actually shocked I’m not drooling. He’s that good-looking.
He pulls some cash from a money clip and puts it on the bar, then he sweeps up my hand again.
The heat of his touch is a thrill that warms my blood. When he turns my hand, palm up, and places his soft lips against the center, the breath in my lungs stutters, and that intimate touch of flesh on flesh is flame right to my clit.
“I’ll be outside,” he says again, letting me go and leaving.
I stare after him, everything inside going haywire.
It’s not until the door closes after him, I can breathe.
And then I realize something.
He left me a hundred bucks.
