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“I didn't stop because I'm not attracted to you or to teach you a lesson, though you probably deserved it for trying to use me.”
Use him? This from the guy who blew through women like Gina blew through hairspray. In what crazy-ass universe did men worry about being used when a woman offered herself up on a platter?
“I wasn’t trying to use you,” she said, less sure now. “Well, no more than anyone who wants...”
His raised eyebrow challenged her to finish that sentence. No more than anyone who wants what? A night of wild, abandoned, no-strings sex with a guy you just met? That’s what she had meant, but it rang sordid even in her head. Damn him.
He huffed a breath that rippled through the strands of dark hair brushing his forehead. “A lot of women I meet are only interested in screwing me because I’m on TV. And after a while, casual sex becomes really old.”
This was said with all the blithe confidence of someone who has no problems getting casual sex on a regular basis. It was like a rich person saying money didn't matter. When you didn't have any or weren't getting any, it most definitely mattered.
“I wasn’t interested in you because you’re famous,” she said, squelching her discomfort. That earned her more of the judgmental eyebrow.
“Right, you just want my body.”
Well, yeah. She couldn’t deny it, though she could do her best to ignore it and flip this table around. “Are you saying you're giving up your hound dog ways and retiring to a monastery?”
“I’m saying that now when I want to sleep with someone, I'd like to know more about her than just her cup size.”
She folded her arms beneath her D-cups.
“Lili, any guy would be lucky to be with you but one-night stands no longer interest me. In fact, I haven’t slept with anyone in quite a while. These days, I’d rather get to know a girl first.”
She barked out a laugh at the notion Jack had suspended his membership in Man Whores United. His eyes registered surprise. He was serious.
“You mean dating?” she squealed, as if the word was foreign to her.
His eyes locked on hers in a way that completely unnerved her. “Yes, dating. Do you have rules against dating fame hungry mega whores?”
She should have known that would come back to bite her, but her unease about it was nothing compared to the emotion roiling through every cell of her body. Jack Kilroy—the Jack Kilroy—had asked her out on a date. When a few awkward seconds passed and an obsequious game show host still hadn’t jumped out to tell her it was all a hilarious prank, she regrouped.
“I don’t have time for dating,” she blurted. Not exactly true, but not exactly a lie either.
What she didn’t have time for were men who needed a woman to keep their inflated egos pumped up to supersize levels. She’d already traveled this road with Marco. For their few months together, she had felt warm and safe and…grateful. Grateful that the cute guy who wouldn’t have looked at her twice in her fat days had come down from the mountain and shown poor ol’ Lili what she’d been missing. Marco had turned on that winning smile, and after she got through the metaphorical throat clutch followed by a, “who, me?”, she had grasped at the opportunity a little too desperately.
Never again.
Eventually, she would meet someone sweetly average, a guy at her level, who didn’t think he was doing her a favor by breathing the same air as her. Real life, not the stuff of romantic fantasy.
Some people might think a guy singing tunelessly through your intercom to snag your attention was romantic. Hopelessly romantic people. She kicked that thought to the curb. Now wasn’t the time to get mushy.
“You live in New York, I live here. It would never work.” But even before the words were on the warm night air, she felt the cool chill of regret.
“Right, it could never work.” His eyes glinted as if he was thinking about how to make it work which had the curious effect of making her think about how to make it work. This guy was good.
“How’s your friend?” she asked, eager to pilot them to more neutral ground. Laurent had since fallen over and was now curled up on the sidewalk, probably imagining he had made it to the safety of his comfortable hotel bed.
“Not great. Frenchmen are supposed to be able to hold their liquor, what with them being weaned straight from breast milk to wine. But Laurent has always been a bit of a lightweight, bless his heart.”
They looked down at the French-shaped puddle on the ground.
“I just need to get him into a cab.” He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “Unless you want to offer us a bed for the night.”
“That's a really bad idea.” Lili gave Laurent a gentle shove with her foot and was rewarded with a reedy moan. “I don't think I'd trust a Frenchman, even an adorably inebriated one, in my apartment. He could probably make zee love while in zee coma.”
“I’d protect you. And you're definitely not his type.” Jack shrugged. “Despite all the Gallic swagger, he much prefers the company of sheep.”
Laughter bubbled up from her gut. Jack Kilroy was charm personified, all shiny surfaces and glittering bon mots. She couldn’t remember the last time she'd enjoyed talking to a guy this much. It had been even longer since her body had reacted with such...sizzle. When Jack touched her—when Jack plain looked at her—her body sizzled.
