“In public, it’s not real. Behind closed doors, we’re not anything but two people who don’t know each other. All bets are off. I want to see what you’re hiding underneath all of this outlandishness.”
Oh, God. He was serious. And so intent that it bobbled her pulse. But she was nothing if not voraciously attracted to new experiences. What was the worst thing that could happen? Her pulse thumped as he tossed the first shoe over his shoulder. His gorgeous hazel eyes did not have an ounce of hesitation in them.
“By all means, strip away.” She granted him permission to continue with a wave of her hand as if it didn’t matter, but that would be a lie.
This was far from the first time a man had undressed her. But the way he was doing it tripped a hundred sensors in her chest, warning her it wasn’t going to be like any of those other times.
Despite the heavy awareness spreading across her skin, this wasn’t about sex, and neither of them was confused about that. It was about something else. A quest for knowledge.
She’d always considered herself an open book, but as he dropped the other shoe to her hardwood floor, she suddenly wondered if he’d sense all the dark and personal corners of herself that she’d never shared with anyone.
The brokenness inside wasn’t something she liked to think about.
And that made her want to slam the book shut.
But it was too late. He peeled the catsuit from her shoulders and dragged it to her waist, his gaze locked on to hers, never straying to the skin he was revealing. Somehow, that made the act of him undressing her more sensuous.
She’d expected him to look, to ogle her naked body, because come on. He was a man, as red-blooded as any she’d ever met, and he had pulled out a bra and panties. He knew she didn’t have anything on under this outfit.
Carefully, he lifted her hips and kept going, unwrapping her so slowly that her throat burned. When she twisted to release the fabric from under her legs, his fingertips grazed the brilliant green ivy tattoo twining around her thigh. She could feel the question in his touch, and her muscles quivered.
“It leads to the garden of Eden,” she murmured as he laid her bodysuit aside. “Or so the story goes.”
His gaze cut to her eyes.
“What’s the real story?” he asked quietly. Unobtrusively. Sincerely, as if he really did want to know who she was.
“Ivy is hearty. It climbs. The vine grows little feet and will cling to almost any surface until it’s taller than the structure it’s climbing on. That resonates with me.”
“You’re tenacious.” He nodded and slid the panties over her legs and trailed his thumb across the tattoo as he settled them into place. “That’s a good quality.”
She shrugged, mystified why he’d picked that word from the concept she’d thrown out. She’d always thought of it as survival and then domination of her surroundings, because it was that or be trampled underfoot. Ivy was one of those plants that when you stumbled over ruins, it would still be thriving. Maybe even overtaking the entire structure.
The butterfly tattoo on her wrist had meaning to her as well. Everything she’d done to decorate her body had significance. She wasn’t sure how much she liked that he’d immediately dug that out of her.
His thumb continued stroking her thigh, and she got very aware of his hands on her very fast. “Your thumb is a little low. The garden is underneath those panties you just put on me.”
“Are you asking me to touch you?” His voice was rough with a need that thrilled her. “Because that is very against the rules.”
“Make some new ones,” she said and let the challenge roll through the space between them, of which there was way too much for her taste. Maybe this hadn’t been about sex at the start, but it could be now. It should be. “I’m just going to ignore them all anyway. I’m very good at being bad.”
To demonstrate, she slid her fingertips up his leg to brush his groin, but just as she was about to curl her palm around his shaft, he grabbed her hand, removing it forcibly.
“Why do you do that?” he said point-blank, holding her hand in his as far away from his body as he could.
“Do what?” She stared at him, desperately trying to figure out where she’d miscalculated. He wanted her, and there was no way he could lie about it when she’d felt the evidence herself. “Refuse to pull punches when I want something? I’m not going to apologize. I like sex.”
“No, you don’t. You like control, and seduction is how you get it.” He stared right back. “It amuses you to lead a man around, and sex keeps him occupied so he doesn’t dig too far down into places he’s not welcome.”