Falling into Temptation (Falling 1)

“You look so fucking sexy in these,” he rasps. “So wild and rebellious. And don’t even get me started on those red boots. What I would do to you with those on.”

Did he really just say that, or am I imagining things? I can’t move, or speak. I’m paralyzed by what he’s doing to me with just his words.

He leans forward to whisper into the shell of my ear. “I want you, Victoria. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you ran into me on the street the other day.”

I pull back a little, daring to look into his eyes. They are full of hunger, and I can only hope my own eyes aren’t betraying my desire too. He places both of his large hands on my knees, gripping them possessively as he takes back the space between us.

“Tell me you want me too.”

I want to, oh God do I want to. Every fiber of my being is screaming out for him. I want to tell him to take me right here, right now. But in the back of my mind, my logical self is reminding me he does this all the time. This is what he’s famous for. He probably has some strange preoccupation with slumming it with the average gals every once in a while.

And I know that if I’m having this hard of a time refusing him now, I would never be able to refuse him in the future. I’ve come too far from allowing myself to be used by my last boyfriend, if you could even call him that, and I won’t go back now. I don’t know much about Gabriel Maddox, but from what I do know he’s a serial womanizer. And I need another heart break like I need a bullet to the head.

Somehow I manage to compose myself enough to pull away from him as I look into his eyes.

“I um… I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, but you don’t even know me.”

I have no idea why I’m apologizing, but it just slips out. I’m always apologizing when I shouldn’t. That’s the people pleaser in me.

He pulls back abruptly as I rise on legs that feel like Jello. His face is suddenly impassive, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Just like that he’s able to hide his emotions, and in that moment I know I’ve made the right choice. He runs his hand back through his hair and exhales an exasperated sigh.

“So let me get to know you then, Victoria,” he states simply, as though that should be the solution to my argument.

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.” I turn to go. I don’t even sound convincing to myself, so I don’t know how I expect him to accept my response. I feel like he knows too much already, information I haven’t even given him… my name, my work, who knows what else. Then realization sinks in. I whip around, trying to hide the panic in my voice. “How did you find me?”

He smiles at my sudden change of tack and then looks at me quizzically for a moment before answering. “It wasn’t that difficult, Victoria. The name of the company you work for was on the parcels you dropped the other day. I called them and gave your physical description, requesting you personally. Your boss freely gave me your first name. I see no harm in that, do you?”

I furrow my brows, not quite believing how stupid I had been. I make a mental note to be more careful with my information from now on. I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I turn on my heel and continue for the door. Just as I reach for the handle he speaks again, stopping me in my tracks.

“Tell me, Victoria, who is it that you’re running from?”

I can’t bear to face him, because I’m not sure where this is going, and I don’t have a very good poker face. “Excuse me?”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance,” he growls.

Suddenly he’s behind me, whipping me around to face him. He keeps hold of my shoulders as he searches the depths of my eyes for answers. And for some reason, I feel like he can see right through me. I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath. His cologne wafts up as I do, and I go a little weaker in the knees. He smells exotic. Delicious. Hints of Bergamot and Sandalwood. Earthy. Woody. Spicy. I savor the smell, allowing it to linger on me before I speak again. This is how I will remember him.

I shake my head, trying to hold onto my wavering resolution. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper. How the hell does this man know so much about me?