She grins around a bite of pasta, that same playful smirk I’m quickly growing fond of.
“Too forward,” I confirm when she doesn’t speak.
“I’m just imagining the logistics. My dress is a little short.”
“Your dress is perfect,” I argue.
“But I have a lot of skin showing. That’s a huge task to keep warm.”
“I’d treat it like a full-time job.”
“Do you have a blanket in the vehicle?”
I shake my head. “We’d have to rely on body heat.”
“Mmm.” The sound settles right in my damn lap, and it takes an enormous amount of self-control not to shift in my seat and clue her in on how my body is responding. She’s made the sound more than once since we started eating, and I’m happy she’s enjoying the taste of her food, but this time she’s looking at me when that partial moan escapes her lips.
“Are you purposely trying to drive me wild?”
“Me?” She holds her palm to her chest in mock outrage at the accusation.
I grin wider at her behavior. She’s always so serious. I love seeing this playful side of her.
“I’d never.” She leans a little closer. “Is it working?”
“My cock is as hard as a brick.” I freeze after the words slip out because although it’s the truth, it’s not really what I’d consider approved first-date conversation.
She slips her napkin from her lap and presses it to her mouth, but I catch the smile before she’s able to cover it. When she pulls the fabric from her lips, she clears her throat before speaking.
“That seems like it would be rather uncomfortable.”
“I’ll manage,” I assure her.
“Dessert?” the waiter asks as he steps closer to the table.
“Nothing on the menu, thank you,” Faith says, her eyes locked on mine the entire time.
I have a decision to make. Unless this woman is a complete tease and will turn me away at her front door when I take her home, there’s a good chance she’s going to invite me inside. We both know what will happen if I cross the threshold of her place. Maybe it’s what she expects. Maybe she asked to speak to me in her office earlier with those exact intentions but giving into a carnal need isn’t going to help me in the long run. I don’t want to spend a night in this woman’s bed only to wake up the next day and never hear from her again.
She’s been on my mind way too much to ignore.
“I think we’re expected to get a light snowfall later in the week,” I say.
“Yeah? We’re going to talk about the weather now?”
“We need to pick a safe topic if I have any hope of walking out of here without causing a scene.”
“That sounds like a big problem.”
“Massive,” I confirm, picking up on the inflection of her words.
I nearly groan when her eyes drop to the table, indicating she was going to verify visually herself.
“Behave,” I warn. “Do you like the snow?”
Her smile stays in place as we shift the conversation to safer topics, but my cock is still on board with the earlier discussion when our meal is over. I manage to walk out without causing a scene, but just barely.
The ride back to her place is filled with silence and enough sexual energy that scientists could spend a lifetime trying to evaluate it. The entire time, I’m arguing with myself about how the night will end.
Since I haven’t been going out with Grinch and the guys, it’s been a long time since I spent time with a woman. Okay, so six weeks probably isn’t a long time to most, but it’s an eternity for a man accustomed to going to the bar on any given night and leaving with company.
I haven’t even considered doing that since we got back from Puebla weeks and weeks ago.
I know what my body wants. The only question is if I’m going to be able to use the right head to make this decision.
Like an addict bargaining for just a tiny hit to get through a rough patch, my cock is saying that it’ll be fine even if I do go inside with her. The head on my shoulders knows better. She was too quick to bring up and hint at sex earlier, too quick to flirt and let the conversation turn nearly X-rated.
I hate that her expectations for tonight could possibly be so different from mine, but I get the feeling that if I cave and give in, if we spend the night together, nothing between us is going to change, meaning that we’ll go right back to never speaking. There’s a good chance she’ll blow me off and tell me that she’s not interested in more.
“What’s wrong?” Faith asks when a groan I meant to hold in rushes past my lips.
“Nothing,” I lie because telling her that I’m confused, wondering just when in the hell I turned into a man that is going to decline what I know will be amazing sex, won’t go over well.