Dirty Desires

He opens the limo door for me. Motions after you.

I take another look at my sister—she’s watching us from her spot on the armchair, pretending as if she’s invested in her conversation with Lock and Cynthia—and motion to my phone.

Eve: Yes.

Addie: He’s really handsome. And so tall. And the accent! Like the detective on that TV show. Tell me he doesn’t have the same temper.

Eve: I don’t think so. He’s always in control.

Addie: Is that a British thing?

Eve: The show is British.

Addie: But it’s a TV show. They have to do something to make it exciting.

Ian chuckles as he slides in next to me. He pulls the door closed, shutting out the soft light.

It’s only a little smaller than my bedroom. But with Ian here, the space feels too big and too small at once.

He’s too far away.

And he’s too close.

I’m too afraid of how much I want him.

His knee brushes mine. His slacks against my bare skin.

He’s wearing a suit again. A full suit, with a tie and a tie-clip and everything.

“What are you going to explain?” His voice stays even. Calm. Like he has all the time in the world.

His posture is just as strong and patient.

He sits tall, legs barely spread, hands at his sides, eyes on me.

“That’s why you should have told me,” I say. “I don’t know. I told her I got a new gig that would keep me busy. But she won’t like the idea of me sleeping with my boss.”

He nods, pleased with my answer. “Would you tell her the truth?”

“That I sold my v-card? Uh, no.”

“It’s enterprising.”

“Still.”

“You don’t want her to think you’re a whore?”

The word makes my stomach twist. It’s not like me. I’m not squeamish about labels. I’m an empowered woman. I believe it’s any woman’s right to do what she wants with her body. Including putting a price tag on sexual services. “Why? Do you?”

“Wouldn’t that make me a john?”

“You wouldn’t be the first john to look down on his… service provider.”

His laugh deepens. His eyes light up. Not the heat of desire. Something else. Something in his heart.

God, his eyes are so gorgeous. Intense. Sexy.

Everything about him is sexy.

It’s not fair.

Fuck. What am I telling my sister? How am I supposed to concentrate with those eyes on me?

I rack my brain for something, anything, but my thoughts are too far away. Ian is so close. And so tall and broad and sexy. I already want to climb into his lap.

“I, uh… can you uh… stop being so sexy for a minute?” I ask.

“Can I stop being sexy?”

“Yeah, I really can’t concentrate.”

He chuckles, at least. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks.” I ignore the absurdity of my request. “I really do need to explain this. Addie is my best friend. My only true friend.” I scoot to the other side of the bench. It helps. Not enough to clear my head. But enough to free my fingers.

Eve: I’ll explain later. I promise. And I promise I’m safe.

I shouldn’t be able to promise that. When is a woman really safe from a man? How can I trust this guy I barely know?

But I do.

Addie: He’s way too old for you. I have to say that, as your sister. It’s my duty. But he’s also incredibly handsome. And, according to Google, incredibly rich. Even more than I would have guessed with the whole assistant bringing lingerie thing. So have fun. Make him buy lunch. Use a condom. I don’t want to spend three hours waiting at Planned Parenthood.

Oh my God. My blush deepens.

I turn my phone on silent. Slide it into my pocket. Let my gaze shift to Ian. “Thanks.”

“For?”

Uh… He isn’t less sexy. And it’s his fault I have to explain this. I mean, it’s kind of cute he surprised me. Or it would be. If this was a normal relationship and not… whatever it is. “Not interrupting.”

He smiles. “You’re right. I didn’t know your sister would be here. I should have asked.”

“Oh.”

Is that… an apology? I don’t know many men who apologize. Even over little things. It calms the butterflies in my stomach. Until my eyes meet his.

The intensity in his soulful browns sends a flutter through my entire body.

His eyes trace a line down my body. He takes his time. Focuses on every inch. “You’re wearing your boots today.”

“How else would I know if they looked good with my dress?”

“Sharp.” His smile is wicked. Somehow, it says I’m picturing you naked. It stokes the fire inside me.

Yes. Now. Please.

I’m losing words again.

And losing interest in holding onto him.

But how do I follow his lead?

I try to match his stare, but I don’t have the intensity he does. I can’t undress him with his eyes.

I can move closer. Or stay here. Or say something.

One of the dirty things he says.

Yes, pull me into your lap. Peel my shorts to my ankles. Remove everything that isn’t my boots.