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“It’s cute that you don’t even know.”
“I think somebody has an overactive imagination.”
“Oh, meaning me?” I say. “You think it’s only me who calls it that?”
“Yeah, I do. Which reveals the direction of your thoughts.”
“So arrogant,” I say, as if his nearness isn’t a tickle. As if my skin isn’t pure shivery nerve endings when I get around him. “I’m not the one covering the city with massive phallic symbols emblazoned with my name. It’s the direction of your thoughts we should be concerned about.”
“Like a Rorschach ink-blot test,” he teases. “Some people see cranes, the progress of a city, but you see something quite different.”
“Oh, pull-ease.” I snatch the vest from his hands and get Smuckers out of the purse. “You ready to be on team Cock Worldwide, buddy?” I put the vest on him. It fits perfectly.
“People wouldn’t call us that.”
“Think what you want. The world is your golden crib.”
Henry reaches over and runs his finger over the cursive L in Locke, a move that brings his arm and hand dangerously close to my lap.
“The loop on that L looks like a C. You have to at least admit that.”
“Well…Cock Worldwide, huh.” He seems to ponder. “If the name fits…”
“Oh my god!” I grab his hand. I’m just laughing now. “You are so bad!”
He grins at me, and there’s a whoosh where the whole world stops. And I think he’s going to kiss me. I know he’s going to kiss me. And I want it.
God, how I want it.
I let go and sit back, cross my arms, take a shallow breath.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Your fake seduction plan. You think I’m that stupid or just that desperate?”
“Look at me.” Then, voice strained, “Vicky.”
I don’t look at him.
“I would never think you’re stupid or desperate. They’re the last things I’d think of you.”
“I know what you’re doing. And just…I want you to understand that you don’t have to do it.” This is as close as I can come to telling him I’m giving back the company without breaking the pact.
I don’t have much, but I have my word.
He slides the back of his fingers across my cheek. My blood rushes hot through my veins. I shut my eyes.
Hard skin brushes soft, featherlight. Smooth and slow. His touch is so gentle, I think my heart might crack.
His voice, when it comes, is a whisper. “Kiss me, Vicky.”
“I can’t.”
“Kiss me.” His voice is low and urgent. “Be with me.”
My heart stutters.
He skims down below my jawline now, sliding against my skin with the back of one finger, slow, slow and scorchingly tender.
