Broken Beast

"I've never tried it." Not the way he means.

"Do you want to?"

Despite my thick dress, I feel impossibly naked. "Are you asking because you're going to fuck me?"

"No."

"But you want to fuck me."

"Was I unclear last time?"

No, but—"You left before we started eating."

"I didn't want to lose control."

Lose control and touch me.

Fuck.

For a few minutes, we eat in silence, the suggestion heavy in the air.

I want to fuck him.

He wants to fuck me.

But we're sitting here, eating dinner, not making any attempts to fuck each other.

The main course is even better than the salad. Tender fish with a light lemon and olive oil sauce, crisp potatoes, sauteed spinach.

Everything fresh and flavorful. The best meal of my life. And the strangest.

Adam waits until he's finished with his plate to speak. "You looked me up. I did the same with you."

"Did you find anything interesting?"

"You love pictures of naked women."

My cheeks flush.

"You're constantly giving quotes for the gallery. Always photographers who specialize in artistic nudes."

Oh.

"But then, I knew that a minute after meeting you."

"The Voyeur is my favorite."

"It's beautiful."

"Did you know me before that?"

"Yes." He takes a long sip of his wine. "I read all your quotes when I stumbled on The Voyeur."

"Is that why you paid for home delivery?"

"I rarely leave the house."

"Wouldn't that be an easier way to convince your brothers? Go out, hit the clubs."

He shakes his head.

"No?"

"No. They'd think I was replaced with a robot."

"You don't like dancing?"

"Dancing, yes." He finishes his wine. "Loud, crowded spaces, filled with drunk assholes? No."

"Are galas that different?"

"They're not as loud or crowded." He almost smiles. "But, yes, I could meet Simon or Liam at a quiet bar. Have a few drinks. Show up with a pretty girl on my arm." He stands. "Kiss her."

So that's his plan.

His eyes meet mine. "Have you ever been in love?"

"Never."

"You've dated."

It's not a question, really, but I answer anyway. "Yes. Not casually. It's not for me."

He nods with understanding.

"I've had three boyfriends. A cute nerd in high school. He was sweet. The first time he kissed me, he asked permission."

"Did you like that?"

"I did. But after a while, I wanted him to know without asking. I wanted to feel like he needed to kiss me."

"You wanted him to read your body language."

"Yes."

He takes a step toward me. "The others?"

"After school. Both artists. One when I was working as a waitress. He, uh, he helped me get the job at the gallery."

"There's no shame in that."

Maybe. It is how the world works. "We were together for a year, then he found a new muse. And I met another artist who was showing at the gallery."

"Of course."

I raise a brow.

"You're beautiful, smart, articulate. You wear your love of art on your sleeve. What artist would be able to resist you?"

"Men are easily threatened."

He actually chuckles. "Yes."

"Male artists… they like me when I'm gushing. When I talk about selling photographs. But when I show them my own?"

"They want to be the artist in the relationship."

I nod. "They want me to be their groupie. Or their muse."

"Men who take photos of naked women?"

"Yes."

"I'd want you to be my muse too." Intent drops into his voice.

My body buzzes. I want him. Badly. "You're not a photographer."

"My cell phone has a camera."

"Have you ever used it?"

"Have I taken a cell phone picture?"

"For illicit purposes?"

"No."

"Would you?" I ask.

"If I trusted someone enough."

If he trusts me enough, maybe.

I've never wanted a man to send naked photos before. But I'm desperate to strip Adam out of his suit, watch him wrap his hand around his cock—

"Did you pose for them?" he asks.

"No."

"Why not?" He takes another step toward me.

This time, I raise my brow really. "Why didn't I let a man take naked photos of me?"

"Was that it?" He offers his hand.

I take it. Let him pull me to my feet.

"Were you doing the practical thing?"

"Partially."

His fingers curl into my palm.

"I wanted to be the one behind the camera. And they couldn't handle that. The first was threatened by me owning a camera. The other… I offered him a deal. I'd pose for him if he'd pose for me."

His hand curls around mine.

I look up into his eyes. "He said no."

"And that was it?"

"It was the beginning of the end."

"Because he turned you down?"

"It wasn't that he said no. It was how. The idea of posing disgusted him. He'd never lower himself to that level. He'd never be an object for the camera. That was a job for women. They were supposed to be objects for his viewing pleasure. Pretty and pliable."

"How do you see it?"

"There's a power in standing in front of a camera without your clothes. Saying this is me, world, in all my glory."

"You've done it?"

Does he really not know? Maybe. Or maybe he's pretending. "Only for myself. I can't afford models. That's the easiest way."