Perfect Strangers
Page 17
“I was going to say honeydew melons.”
After a moment, I say, “You know, if anyone had told me I’d so thoroughly enjoy a man comparing my body parts to various fruits and melons, I’d have told them they were crazy.”
Nodding, he says somberly, “You’re a modern woman, after all.”
“Exactly. I consider myself a feminist. I have a college degree. Several, in fact. Yet here I am, wallowing in how fantastic it feels to hear you call my boobs cantaloupes.”
“Honeydew melons.”
“Right. Sorry. Where was I?”
“You’re a feminist with an advanced education.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
“You don’t need a man to be complete.”
“Yes! You understand what I’m saying!”
“And you definitely don’t need a man bossing you around.”
“No. No way, Jose.”
James takes a step closer, crossing the threshold and gazing unblinking down into my eyes. His voice throaty, he says, “Except in bed.”
Every nerve in my body jumps into full, screaming alert. My heart slams against my breastbone. He’s so close I feel the heat radiating from his body, the same heat that engulfs me in a wave and rocks me back onto my heels, leaving me burning with lust.
I exhale a quiet, unsteady breath. “Wow.”
“I know. Imagine what it’ll feel like when we kiss.” Looking at my mouth, he moistens his lips.
“I’m starting to wonder if that might be a bad idea. Have you heard of those people who randomly explode into flames?”
“Spontaneous human combustion,” he says, still staring at my mouth.
“Yes. I’m the type of person that could happen to.”
Slowly, James leans forward and lowers his head. He runs the tip of his nose along my jaw, then whispers into my ear, “I’ll have to be careful, then, won’t I?”
Never in the history of rhetorical questions has one been so scorching hot.
He straightens, smiling—obviously recognizing I’m fighting to maintain consciousness—and takes my hand.
“Let’s go get dinner. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, we’ll talk. Then we’ll come back and sit on your sofa and I’ll practice being careful with you until you’re completely satisfied.”
Oh, that devilish smirk. I knew I was in trouble.
I say lightly, “Okay, but I have to warn you: I’m very hard to please.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “Good. I love a challenge.”
I’m so distracted by all the possibilities that I forget to lock the door as we leave.