“Turn around.”
I swallowed my pride and did as he asked.
He sat down in a black armchair and rested his ankle on the opposite knee. One elbow was propped on the armrest with the measuring tape held in his fingertips. He gently rolled his thumb against the circular surface, his eyes grazing over my body like he’d never seen a woman in a thong.
His gaze started at my neck and then slid down my body. He paid attention to my tummy the most, homing in on it before he looked at my thighs. “Do you lift weights? Run?”
“Neither.”
His fingers stopped playing with the measuring tape, and his eyes narrowed on my face. “Then what do you do?”
“Nothing.”
That obviously wasn’t the right answer. “A woman doesn’t have an ass like that from doing nothing.” His fingers started to move on the tape measure again.
“I’m on my feet twelve hours a day with school and bartending.”
“You were a bartender?”
Why would that interest a man like him? “Yes.”
“What’s your favorite drink?”
“Scotch.”
His eyes narrowed in intensity, as if that answer meant something to him. “Why?”
“It’s simple and effective.”
“That’s my father’s favorite drink. My mother hates it.”
“It requires a certain palate.” I was talking about drink choices in my underwear the way I would with a lover. It felt so comfortable that it actually made me uncomfortable.
His eyes finally left mine and returned to examining me. “You’re beautiful from head to toe.” He started his perusal again at my neck then slowly moved to my feet. “Perfect skin, perfect curves, perfect everything…I wouldn’t change a thing.”
I didn’t know if I should say thank you for being objectified so casually, so I didn’t. “You must say that to all your models.”
“Actually, I don’t.” His eyes shifted back to mine. “Every woman is unique. Some have the perfect eye color to complement their skin. Some have the perfect legs that look amazing in a teddy and garters. Some have the perfect shoulders for a sweetheart top. They all have something amazing other than being thin…but none of them have everything.” His eyes burrowed into my skin with his heated look, seeing me skin-deep. His visceral look wasn’t lustful in nature, rather almost respectful. I certainly felt like a lamb when I was around this lion, but I also felt like a goddess at the same time. He insulted me when I didn’t reach his expectations, but when I did, he did nothing but flatter me. “But you do.” He left the chair and approached me, pulling the end of the tape measure. “I’m going to take some measurements now. That’s as close to me asking for permission as you’re going to get.”
He wrapped the tape measure around my rib cage first. Then he moved to my hips, adjusting the tape as I became wider. He must have memorized the numbers because he never wrote them down.
He took measurements that I never expected, from my shoulder to my chest, and from one shoulder to the opposite breast. He even wrapped the soft tape around my neck. It took him nearly twenty minutes to map out my entire body, measuring the size of my calves as well as my thighs. When he measured my legs, he measured from the knee to my waist then took a separate measurement of my ankle to my knee.
I didn’t have a clue how he remembered all of that.
He walked to the table and scribbled his notes, the tape measure sitting beside him. His masculine hand made the pencil look even smaller because of the size difference. I could hear the scratch of the pencil tip against the paper, probably because he was pressing so hard into the parchment.
I didn’t put my clothes back on because I assumed he would tell me to take them off again.
When he was finished, he set the pencil down and then took another drink of his coffee.
I was grateful he was facing the other way. His callused fingertips had brushed against my skin in the most perfect way. It made me afraid but also excited. I liked the way he was so meticulous with his work, making sure every measurement was as exact as possible. He wore a particular expression, a hard look from his concentration. His jaw was harder, and his green eyes took on a deeper shade. His eyebrows furrowed as he studied all the movements he made with his fingertips. The focused expression made his handsome face even more captivating. It made me wonder how his face looked when he was buried between the legs of a beautiful woman. Was his expression the same? Or was it even sexier?
I felt my skin flush at the thought.
Conway turned back to me. “I’ve seen some of these numbers before…but here and there. I haven’t seen every single one attached to one woman. That’s pretty incredible.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks and slowly walked back toward me, approaching me with a distinct gentleness that contradicted the way he’d aggressively touched me and measured me.