He’s watching me with a half-smile.
He tilts his head and asks, “Where did you go?”
I prop my hands on my hips. “A little Italian restaurant.”
“What’d you order?”
“Pizza.”
“And what did you two talk about?”
“Books. Politics. Culture.” I wave my hand in the air to encompass all of the made-up subjects. “The conversation really flowed.”
His brow arches in disbelief. “And what about a second date? I’m sure he asked about that before he dropped you off.”
I resist a sneer.
“Already scheduled for next week.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” I brush my finger down my silky skirt. “I’m thinking about wearing an even sexier dress since we’ll probably, y’know…”
“You can stop lying now,” he snaps, his eyes full of the same fire I saw at the YMCA.
I toss my hands in the air. “WOW. What is it like to wake up every day with your level of arrogance? I’ve asked you to leave like ten times and yet there you sit on my couch, petting my dog, accusing me of lying!?”
“Lucas told me you were over at his house,” he says with an even, cool tone.
My brother is now dead to me.
I offer him a condescending slow clap. “Way to go, Sherlock. You figured it out. I didn’t have a date. Nope, I just couldn’t stand to be in your presence for longer than five minutes, so I lied. Do you feel good about yourself now?”
His brows furrow and the fire in his gaze blazes just a little hotter. “He only told me because he knew I’ve been trying to reach you the last few days.”
“Oh, so you and my brother are confidantes now? Well why don’t you do me a favor and tell him to fuck off, and then you can pass the message along to yourself as well.”
He has the audacity to smile then. If I were still holding my heels, I’d fling one at his stupid, magnificent head.
“That’s it. Mouse, attack!”
Mouse licks his butt.
It was worth a try.
Adam pushes to stand and stalks toward me. I back up. For every step he takes, I take two, but still, his strides somehow eat up the distance between us. I hold my hands out to keep him at arm’s length and his muscled chest hits my palms. It feels like I’m trying to hold back a tidal wave.
“I misspoke the other night,” he says, wrapping his hands around mine and keeping them pinned against his chest. I was fending him off, but now it seems like the exact opposite.
“Oh?”
“Obviously, I’m interested.”
I reply with a very unladylike snort. “Obviously? You could have fooled me.”
“C’mon Madeleine, I’m very interested,” he repeats, his steady gaze holding mine. “But I was trying to do the right thing. I just got out of an engagement. I moved across the country. I’m a mess.” I nearly laugh—his life is infinitely less messy than mine. “You aren’t someone I want to fuck around with.”
“So you’re saying I’m not fuckable?” I tease.
“Madeleine.”
His hands tighten over mine as he tugs me closer. This proximity is starting to be a problem. The tension between us is growing, and I’m scared we’re about to have a repeat of the YMCA make-out session—except now we’re alone in my apartment and my couch is just a few steps behind him. Worse, my bed is even closer.
I need to extinguish the fire between us stat.
“I’m kidding! Adam, listen, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I heard you loud and clear the other night, and I’ve moved on. That kiss was nothing—pfft, less than nothing.”
I think I’m doing a good job of diminishing my feelings, right up until his eyes flare. Oh no. I think I’ve just swung a red flag in front of an angry bull.
“Nothing?” he asks, sidling even closer. “Less than nothing? Huh.”
My eyes have to be as round as saucers. I’m scared of what he’s capable of…or maybe I’m curious.
“Adam, c’mon. You said you wanted to do the right thing, remember? Go home—that’s the right thing.”
He smirks and steps closer. We’re hip to hip when he bends down and brushes his lips against my ear. “You haven’t been listening.”
I shiver and then insist, “I have.”
“I don’t want to do the right thing anymore.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself to wake up from this bizarre dream. Adam’s hand releases my wrist and he skims the back of his finger up my forearm and bicep until he hits the thin red strap of my dress. It’s loose and easy to tug down my shoulder. The front of my dress falls with it and the swell of my breast is hit with cold air-conditioning.
“I really, really don’t want to do the right thing anymore,” he says just before his lips hit my collarbone.
My head falls back until it hits the wall, and my fingers sink into his hair just like they did last week. We already have old habits. His lips on my skin feel familiar, right. He peels down another inch of my dress, and I’m too nervous to open my eyes. I know how much he can see. I can feel his mouth on my breast. I should have worn a bra. Two bras.