Naughty or Nice

But part of me suspects he is doing this because of my family and their vendetta.

I know my product is good enough to warrant his attention, but this—this has nothing to do with my product and everything to do with me.

‘Are you denying that you want me?’

I can hear the disbelief in his voice and it annoys me. Like my father—like my brother, even—he assumes he knows what I want. Is he going to start dictating what’s best for me too?

‘No, I think you know that well enough,’ I admit. There’s no point in lying about the obvious. ‘You knew it ten years ago and you know it all over again now. But here’s the thing, Lucas...’

I turn to face him. My apartment is a building away now. Sanctuary is close. I just need to hold it together a few more moments.

‘I’m not the kid I was then. I won’t jeopardise my work for some...’ I struggle for the right phrase and settle for the easiest, most innocent. ‘Some silly distraction.’

His laugh is low, seductive, and he takes advantage of my stationary state to close the distance between us, reaching out his hand to cup my jaw. I want to move away, to stop the frisson at his touch, but I can’t make my body obey.

His thumb is soft, warm as he brushes it over my cheekbone, and my eyes are lost in the darkness of his, so close I can just make out the rim of brown, the flecks of gold that dance in the snow-white lights adorning the trees that line the street.

‘There’s nothing silly about the way I feel right now.’

Dammit, does he have to look so sincere?

A group of revellers round the corner and start moving down the street, their voices deep and loud as they roll out a rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas’.

‘Seems we’re destined to have spectators,’ he says.

And as my lips part on no words I’m swamped by the memory of our previous encounter and the fear that I want him to kiss me. So much it hurts. But it’ll be my undoing. A ten-year-old memory stoked, refreshed, and my feelings with it.

And a hope for something that just isn’t possible.

My tongue sweeps across my lower lip.

It’s nerves. I’m just nervous.

My clit pangs painfully, mocking me.

‘Please, Lucas, this has to stop.’

I think of his mouth, his tongue, the dizzying pressure he administered so expertly over me. Stop. Don’t stop. My thoughts are as chaotic as the blood racing through my veins.

‘Tell me to leave...’

He steps forward, close enough to stop the chill wind breaching the gap between us, and now I’m just hot. Hot and confused.

‘...and I will.’

‘I... I...’

‘Tell me.’

‘Please...’ I try again and fail. I don’t want to breathe—don’t want to inhale his scent, his warmth, his appeal. All my barriers are collapsing.

‘Evangeline...’

My name rolls over his tongue and his head dips. The air sits in my lungs as I neither rebuke him nor pull him in. And then he sweeps past my mouth, along my cheek to my ear, his lips gently brushing over my skin with his words.

‘I want you.’

A strange whimper sounds, and as he lifts his head, his lips curving, I know it’s come from me. I see the triumph in his gaze as he moves for my mouth and a slice of sanity erupts.