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“Right. So the florist wasn’t public?”
He smirks at me. “Semipublic.”
“Or the boat in Paris?”
“Neither of them was actually sex—like this. But that’s beside the point. I don’t plan to do these things to you. I just can’t help myself.”
“That’s the excuse a toddler gives when they’ve raided the cookie jar.” I roll my eyes. “Besides, I thought it was dinner before orgasm?”
“It is.” He looks at me at the intersection, deadly serious. “That was your starter.”
He eyes me across the table. Dark and brooding, his gaze roams over my face, touching every part of it, until it drops and rests against my chest for a long minute. Heat flushes up my body with the intensity of his stare. It’s almost as if he’s stripping me bare in his mind, and the twitch in his fingers makes me think he’s imagining every way he could touch me.
“You’re blushing,” he whispers, leaning forward.
His words break the spell, and the conversations from the tables around us filter back into my world.
“No, I’m not.” I cut into my salmon.
“Yes, you are.” He curls his fingers around the stem of his wine glass, the long, flexing motion drawing my eyes there.
“It must be the lighting.” I lift the fork to my mouth and seal my mouth around the fish.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and he stills as I slowly withdraw the fork from between my lips.
“The lighting,” he muses, his eyes never moving, “seems fine to me.”
“It’s all perception.” I set my cutlery down and pat my mouth with my napkin. Tyler’s eyes travel up my face to find mine again. “Don’t you think?”
“Perception. It’s a funny thing, that.” He sits back in his chair. “But I agree. After all, I’m sure we both have different perceptions of how public my balcony is.”
I’m still aching from both my earlier orgasm and the promise of more, and his words do nothing to help that anticipation.
“I’ve never been on it. I can’t say.”
“Something you’ll remedy tonight. I’m sure you’ll be happy to offer me your opinion then.”
This over-polite conversation is driving me crazy, but at the same time, I can’t get enough. Every sentence is flirty without being obvious, every word building a tight tension that coils in my stomach.
“I’d be more than happy to.” I take a sip from my wine. “Do your neighbors have balconies?”
“I’m the only one on my floor. It’s…convenient.” His lips curl at the corners.
“Very much so.” Another sip. “And you have quite the uninterrupted view over Elliot Bay. Another convenience?”
“I enjoy waking up to nature on a morning. It’s very pleasurable.” The inflection on the last word reaches out and grabs hold of me.
“I’d imagine it is.”
I sit back while the waiter removes our plates and offers us the dessert menu. Tyler politely declines, instead requesting the bill.
“Tell me.” I lean onto the table. “What else do you find pleasurable?”
His jaw ticks, and he reaches out to cup mine. “Beautiful blond women who wear lacy, navy lingerie and do as they’re told.”
“How convenient,” I murmur, turning into his hand. I kiss him palm softly. “Your night seems to be full of conveniences and pleasures, Tyler Stone.”
“There’s nothing convenient about you, Liv Warren. Pleasurable, yes. Convenient? No. You are far more than a convenience.” He hands his card to the waiter without looking at the bill. “However, the way you’re about to follow me to my car and allow me to take you home to my balcony is very convenient indeed.”
