No, seriously…I was an expert at reading body language, smiling through bullshit stories, and voicing enthusiasm when what I really wanted to do was scream, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.” Take it from me, positive manipulation worked wonders. Lying outright did too…sometimes.
I hadn’t lied to Trent. The weird thing was that I hadn’t manipulated him either. Sure, I’d bought him a drink or two and listened to his phony accented stories about life in a Shakespearean village, but my intention had always been to chalk up our encounter to a well-timed distraction.
I’d had nothing to gain by making him feel like an idiot. And truthfully, he’d been pretty entertaining. If I’d had to take a shot every time he’d said “bloody,” I would have been drunk as a skunk within thirty minutes.
But when he dropped the act, I found I liked the real him much better. Trent was charming in a prickly yet proud kind of way. And I’d always had a thing for rugged men with gruff exteriors that hinted at a gooey center. Obviously, I didn’t know Trent, but I trusted my instincts. Everything in me shouted “Green light, go.” And his timing couldn’t have been better.
“Come on in.”
I shut the door behind him and reset the alarm before tossing my jacket onto the bench in the foyer. Or maybe this was the mud room. I couldn’t remember what the architect had called it.
Fun fact…my house had two official entrances—the grand one facing the fountain out front and the side one that pretty much anyone who mattered to me used. Gracefully faded Persian rugs dampened the echo of the travertine tiles and impossibly high ceilings, adding an elegant flair to the otherwise monotone design.
Everyone complimented the seamless Spanish-meets-traditional modern motif of my home. It was sophisticated but comfortable…so they said. I personally didn’t notice. The outlandish features, like the massive iron-and-crystal chandelier adjacent to the sweeping staircase, didn’t do much for me.
Trent, however, was definitely impressed.
He stopped short to gaze up at the chandelier. With his furrowed brow, hands on his hips and his leather jacket unzipped, Trent looked like the quintessential bad boy. The grown-up version of the guy who’d gotten busted for smoking in the men’s room in high school. Damn, I had a thing for that type of guy.
“What the hell? This is insanity. Do you actually live here?”
I chuckled as I unbuttoned my oxford shirt. “I do.”
“Nuts. Totally bonkers. Your art is—fuck, is that a Matisse?” He pointed at a piece hanging in a collage of paintings; then before I could reply, he spun on his heels and gestured wildly at the ornate iron spindles on the staircase. “Look at that fuckin’ thing. You could go pillow sledding from the top. I bet it would take you as long as it would on a slope in Big Bear.”
“Slight exaggeration.” I tugged my shirt from my trousers.
“Ever tried it? ’Cause I think—”
He turned to face me and froze. I set my hands on my belt. I waited a beat and slid the leather strap from the loop. I waited another beat and unbuckled.
“I was just gonna…change my clothes.”
Wow. Cheesy much?
My seduction skills were rusty as hell, but apparently…I still had it.
Trent forgot the chandelier, the art, and the stairs, and moved toward me like a panther. His gaze roamed my face, my chest, and landed on my crotch. He licked his lips hungrily.
And that was all the encouragement I required.
I finished unbuttoning my shirt at a glacial pace, studying him for clues. He wanted me. I could see it in his expression…the tilt of his chin, his parted lips, and the sensual slide of his eyes. I’d felt it in the car too. Especially when he’d opened the door for me. I wouldn’t have invited him in if I hadn’t thought we were on the same page.
But now that he was here, I wanted him to make the first move. I wanted him to touch me. Hard, soft, I didn’t care. I just needed something.
He must have sensed it. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he slipped his hand under the fabric of my shirt, trailing his fingers across my ribs. He hooked his thumb at my waist, lowering my trousers and boxer briefs slightly as he brushed the digit along the small of my back.
My involuntary shiver did the trick.
Trent slammed his mouth over mine, and we were off to the races.
He cupped my ass with his free hand, pulling me to his chest. I was ready for him. I pushed his jacket over his shoulders and licked the seam of his mouth, groaning when he backed me against the wall and twisted his tongue around mine.
We groped and gyrated like horndogs in heat, sucking, licking, and biting in a frenzy. I tugged his T-shirt from his jeans, splaying my palms over his warm skin before fumbling with his belt. When my fingers shook with the effort, I gave up and flattened my hand over his fly instead, gripping his obvious erection and stroking him through the denim.