“You definitely do.”
His voice drops an octave. “If I do, it’s only because you’re such a pleasure to look at.”
“Ha! Flattery will get you nowhere, Romeo. I’m immune.”
I had to go with sarcasm so he didn’t notice the little shiver that went through me at his words, how all the hairs on my arms stood on end.
I’m in danger here. Serious, imminent danger of being charmed senseless by a handsome artist who arouses in me the dueling urges to run away screaming or strip naked and fling myself onto his torso and cling there like a crab.
My mind takes the opportunity to present me with a Technicolor memory of the fantasy I conjured up of him while masturbating. The fantasy of him fucking me like a champ and slapping my ass.
“Bartender! Another bourbon, please!”
She returns and fills my glass again without giving me a reproachful look that I’ve ordered three drinks in as many minutes, bless her.
When she drifts away, James and I lapse into silence again, but this time he’s staring at my profile, and I’m wishing I had something to fan myself with.
When I don’t turn to look at him, he gently chides, “C’mon. You can do it. I promise I don’t bite.”
“Sure. That’s what all biters say.”
“Really? You know many biters?”
“Oh yeah. I’m kind of a biter magnet, to be honest.”
“How interesting. Do you work at a kennel?”
“Worse.” In publishing, where the piranha are only outnumbered by the sharks.
“If I guess your job right, will you look at me?”
“You’ll never guess. But go ahead.”
“You’re a writer.”
I whip my head around so quickly to stare at him I’m surprised my neck doesn’t break.
“There you are,” he says, smiling into my eyes.
Jesus, yes, here I am, all ten thousand degrees of me.My veins have begun conducting fire. “How did you know I’m a writer?”
“I heard Edmond introduce you to Gigi.”
“Heard? You were across the room. Talking with other people.”
“Yes, but I was paying attention to you, looking like you’d wandered into the seventh circle of hell, wearing this dress that nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Speaking of heart attacks, I’m having one. I can’t think of anything to say, so I simply stare into the endless blue depths of his eyes and hope he can’t see the smoke rising up in curls from my skin.
After a long, blistering moment, he murmurs, “Tell me I’m not the only one standing here feeling like I just stuck my finger into an electrical outlet.”
I say faintly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He exhales slowly, his jaw working, his gaze locked onto mine with such force he could pick me up and pin me against the wall with it.
“If you want me to leave you alone, I will. I don’t want to bother you—”
“You’re not bothering me,” I blurt. “You’re botheringme.”
When he moistens his lips, I almost collapse. Thankfully, Edmond arrives to rescue me.
“My dear! You’ve met James! Wonderful, wonderful!”
I don’t know why he’s so excited about it, but he’s practically levitating at the discovery that James and I are already acquainted. Perhaps he senses all my invisible fault lines and assumes the blue-eyed stallion who is so “popular with the ladies” will help shore them up.
I’m telling you, single women of a certain age make people jumpy.
“Yes, we’ve met,” says James. “In fact, this isn’t the first time.”
“Oh?” Edmond’s ears perk up. He looks back and forth between us with open curiosity while James continues to gaze steadily at me, a faint smile playing around his lips.
Time to finish my drink.
“Yes. I saw her at Café Blanc yesterday and asked permission to draw her portrait.”
Edmond’s gasp is low and thrilled. He turns to me with his hands clasped to his chest, as if in prayer. “Oh, you must sit for him, my dear. You must. James is an incredible artist. Just incredible. It’s quite an honor to be asked to sit for him. Quite an honor, to be sure.”
His habit of repeating himself with more emphasis the second time is really starting to grate on my nerves. But I suppose I’m guilty of that with my crushingly awkward admission that James wasn’t bothering me, he was bothering me, so I really don’t have a leg to stand on.
I offer Edmond a pinched smile. “I’m sure he can find a much more interesting subject than me.”
“No,” Edmond replies solemnly. “You’re perfect. It’s in the eyes. They’re very arresting, if I may say so. Almost…” His gaze turns pensive as he looks at my face.
If he says “haunted” I’ll strangle him with his necktie.
I turn to James. “You didn’t ask permission.”
He lifts his brows.