She wanted to look away, wanted to shield her eyes from his, but she couldn’t. Not when he looked at her as if he believed what he said, as if he really did believe she was more beautiful than the women he escorted to New York’s finest venues. What else had they put in her hair color other than truth serum? A dose of hear what you want to hear?
“Thank you,” she said for lack of knowing what else to say but knowing the situation called for something. She was imagining the softening of his gaze, the pressure of his hand holding hers. “That’s a kind thing to say.”
“You don’t make me feel kind, Faith.”
She stared up at him. “No?”
“No.” Had his mouth moved closer to hers?
She licked her lips, nervously, yet even as she did so, she’d instinctively known his gaze would follow her movements. She wasn’t a fool, wasn’t imagining this chemistry between them. Truth serum, gullibility, whatever, the sparks arcing between them would light up lower Manhattan. “What do I make you feel, Vale?”
Great question and one Vale wasn’t sure of the answer to.
He wanted her. Which surprised him. Usually he was either instantly attracted to a woman or he wasn’t attracted at all.
With all women, he got what he wanted with little effort. Faith was different. He’d spent more time with her than with any other woman, knew her better, had let her know him better, yet what did he really know? Not even the name of her mysterious boyfriend.
Vale immediately lowered his mouth to cover hers, telling himself the surge of emotion in his chest was not jealousy of a man he’d never met. Whatever, Faith’s lips were sweet beneath his and pleasure soon replaced the unwanted emotional surge.
Soft, full, yielding, yet demanding, she returned his kiss. If there was another man in her life, their relationship couldn’t be too serious. Otherwise Faith wouldn’t kiss him back. Yet she didn’t do so whole-heartedly, which gave him pause. He could read her every thought, feel the conflicting sensations swirling inside that brilliant mind of hers. She wanted him, yet she didn’t.
He understood perfectly because he felt exactly the same.
“I want to make love to you, Faith, but I’m not willing to ruin our professional relationship.”
Her eyes widened at his admission, greener than the most precious emerald.
“You’re more important to me than a quick rumble between the sheets.” His words said one thing, but he asked her a question with his eyes. A question he knew the answer to, but asked all the same in the hope he was wrong about Faith.
“Professional relationship at stake or not, I’m not willing to be just a rumble between any man’s sheets, Vale. I’m not you. I don’t do casual sex.”
He’d known, but still disappointment filled him at her response.
“Understood.” He ran his fingers along her cheek, thinking her more beautiful than the sunset, more tempting than any siren of the sea, more precious than any gem in a treasure trove, loving how his name sounded on her lips. “But another kiss wouldn’t hurt anything.”
“No.” Her lips hovered centimeters from his mouth, her breath warm, inviting, making him want more than she was willing to give. “One more kiss wouldn’t hurt, Vale. But just one more because I won’t be one of your girls. We aren’t having a weekend fling or rumble between your sheets or whatever you want to call it.”
“Okay,” he agreed, breathing in her warm, vanilla scent, so clean and refreshing, like her. “Just one more kiss because you aren’t one of my girls and don’t want to be a rumble between my sheets this weekend.”
He continued to tell himself once more while he kissed Faith reverently, his hands cupping her face, his fingers partially threaded into her pulled-up hair, his gaze locked with hers.
The kiss was gentle, searching, desperate and yet lingering as if they had all the time in the world to explore each other’s lips. It was a kiss unlike any Vale had ever experienced.
A kiss that made him wonder what else with Faith would be like nothing he’d ever experienced.
That wonder both thrilled him and scared the living hell out of him.
Feeling like a plucked chicken in a room full of swans, Faith sat in the upstairs media room with the women staying at the Wakefields’ Cape May mansion. Sharon, Angela, two of Sharon’s college friends, Vale’s other cousin Monica, and Steve’s younger sister, Francis Woodard. Vale’s mother and Sharon’s parents had retired to bed around ten, claiming they were too tired to sit up with the younger women and reminding Sharon to be sure to get her beauty sleep so she wouldn’t have bags under her eyes.
The men had gone out for drinks and Steve’s bachelor party, Vale included. Each second that ticked by brought his return closer. And when he returned they’d be expected to share a bedroom. Did Vale sleep in pajamas? Or would he slide between the sheets in nothing more than he’d brought into the world?
“Tell us,” Francis cried after downing a shot of something bright red and grabbing Faith’s hand, pulling her from her meanderings. “What’s it like, dating Very Scrumptious Vale?”
She didn’t want to lie, but what could she say? “Mostly, we just work together.”
“Honey, we all saw that kiss down on the beach.” Francis fanned her face with exaggeration. “If you were on the clock, sign me up for medical school.”
Faith’s face burned. Okay, so the groom’s little sister had a point. But how did she explain what she didn’t understand herself?