Playboy Prince

Now how about I wear off that fucking lipstick. "You look fucking fantastic."

"I know."

"You could do less if you wanted. Still more than some guy would have to do, but less."

"I could."

"I get what you mean."

"You do?" Her eyes fill with incredulity.

"Yeah. It's easier for men. We can wear a suit every day without any implication. You could wear a suit every day, but people would think you're stuck up."

"Yeah."

"It's not as simple as that. There's a real dick measuring contest in business. Men judging each other's ties and watches. But that's about money, power, status."

"People take you seriously by default."

They do.

"Even if you posed for Danielle. People would call it a bold move. If a woman in your position did the same thing…"

"The world is a sexist mess."

"Yeah. I just. Uh… even though it is, I'm still glad I'm a woman. Even though I wouldn't have to worry about my skirt length or my makeup if I was a man. Even though I'd go further, faster in my career. I love being a woman. I'd never want to be a man."

"Isn't that how most people feel?"

"I don't know. I haven't asked." She looks up at me. "But, uh, as it is now, being a woman in business, I wouldn't pose for Danielle."

"If she kept the pictures private?"

"Maybe."

"You don't trust her?"

"I don't know what I need with artistic nudes of myself."

"I can take them off your hands."

Her voice softens. "What would you do with them?"

Chapter Ten

Liam

This is it.

An invitation.

I can say some stupid shit. The way I normally do.

Or tell her the truth.

I want to kiss her again. I want to carry her to my bed. I want to dive between her legs and never come up for air.

We're twelve hours into our ruse and I'm already losing my shit.

And losing interest in holding on to it.

Why pretend?

Why not make her come?

That makes sense.

It's the only thing that makes sense.

Her grey eyes are still glued to mine. She's still there, at the precipice, waiting for my answer.

I want to respond with gusto, with every fucking thing I have.

But I can't.

"When we go to the house, I'll show you the spare room," I say. "The way Danielle decorated it. I'd do that."

"Hang them in your spare room?"

"Fuck no. My bedroom."

"What would you tell the women you bring home?"

"That's a later problem."

She laughs. "Of course."

"They might be into it."

"Into pictures of other women?"

"You've never gotten hot off a picture of another woman?"

She makes that hmm, that's a good point noise.

"Plenty of babes are like Danielle. Exhibitionists."

"Or voyeurs."

"Exactly."

"And you aim to please. That is what you always say."

"I do." What gets her off? What's the best way to push every one of her buttons? I want to know. I have to know.

Briar smiles silly Liam and finishes her drink. She pops an ice cube in her mouth. Sucks hard.

The way she'd—

Fuck.

Not going there.

She bites the thing in half.

That's the mental image I need. Sharp teeth a place they shouldn't be.

Or a place they should.

My neck. My chest. My thighs.

Briar lets out a soft sigh. "That was good. Thanks, Liam."

The sincere compliment feels strange. My sincere, "You're welcome," feels stranger.

It's not us.

Not me. Not her.

We're awkward now.

I want her too much. Her smile, her laugh, her touch.

I've always wanted Briar.

Because she's gorgeous and funny and smart.

This is different. Harder to handle. Tinted with the taste of her lips.

"I forget, sometimes." She gives me a slow once-over. She's checking me out, yeah, but there's something else too. Something deeper. "You're such a charming guy. You ask for what you want in this way… it feels like you're doing someone a favor by asking them for a drink."

"I'm charming?"

"You know you're charming."

"I don't know you think I'm charming."

"Really?"

"Not the way you're saying it now."

"How am I saying it now?"

"It's hard to explain."

"I'm here. You're here." She taps my glass. "We have alcohol." Her eyes flit to my chest. Stomach. Crotch.

She wants to fuck me.

I want to fuck her.

We're both tipsy enough to do it.

It's a bad idea.

A really fucking bad idea. I don't do serious. She doesn't do casual. I'm not throwing away our relationship for one night.

Even if it would be the best night of my fucking life.

Now what the fuck are we talking about?

Me. Charming her. Annoying her with my bullshit.

I try to find my normal tone. "You laugh at my jokes. You smile at my stupid shit. But when I bring you to a work dinner, and I'm schmoozing some asshole, you get this look. Like you can't believe I'm actually making an effort to win over this douchebag."

Her lips curl into a smile. "I do?"

"Usually." I hold up my drink. "Especially after a few."

"They are douchebags."

"Absolutely."

She takes a long sip. "It's not that I think less of you."

I raise a brow really?

She nods really. "It's more I have no idea how you do it. I couldn't. I was ready to stab that guy who was staring at my boobs with my shrimp fork."