Or has she been as dismissive of great literature as critics are of The Hunger Games?
The way her eyes light up when she speaks—
The curiosity in them as she listens—
She listens with her entire body. Like my words are the most interesting thing in the entire world. Like she can’t imagine a subject that fascinates her more.
It’s been a long time since I’ve read All’s Quiet on the Western Front or The Things They Carried. I can’t admit I only picked up The Hunger Games trilogy after she discussed it on her site.
I can’t match her wit, intellect, insight.
But I can share mine.
The series doesn’t skimp on the brutality of war. It’s horrible, yes, but not quite as grounded as the other books. Maybe that’s what’s great about it. How fantastical it is. That makes it easier to absorb.
She teases me about my third chance to impress her with a perfect dinner. Groans over the seared sea bass I order for her. Then chocolate mousse, Vietnamese black tea, hours of conversation.
After, I take her back to my apartment. Order her to undress. Watch her eyes go wide as she looks to the mirror. Watches herself come on my hand.
She’s gorgeous, open, sexy as hell.
Offering her body to me.
Offering herself to me.
She melts into me, completely spent, completely at my mercy.
I bring her to the bed, help her into the sheets, hold her close.
She falls asleep in my arms.
Wakes with those same curious grey-green eyes.
“Hey.” She rolls onto her back. Looks up at me with all the trust in the world. “You broke your promise.”
“You were too tempting.”
She beams. “Oh.” Looks up at me, taking in my workout attire. “Not a suit.”
“Hard to believe?”
She nods. “Almost like I’m dreaming.” She gives me a long, slow once-over. Like I’m the one who exists for her viewing pleasure. “You look good. Of course. It’s not fair.”
“And this?” I motion to the sheet covering her soft body. “This is fair?”
She nods mm-hmm. Sits up, pulling the sheet with her.
Completely perfect.
Grabbing the key to my heart and burying it somewhere deep inside her.
It doesn’t matter how much I focus on her soft curves or her sweet mouth—
I want more than her body.
I want her everything.
Want it enough to risk shattering the only steadiness I have left.
“Go back to bed.” I brush a hair behind her ear. “It’s early.”
“Will you be here when I get up?”
“I’ll make you breakfast.”
She smiles. Bites her lip. “Okay.” She sinks into the mattress. Completely at peace. Exactly where she wants to be.
It warms something inside me. Some place that’s been cold for a long, long time.
I don’t have a choice.
I can run or deny it, but it won’t change the facts.
No matter what I do, I’m falling for her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Eve
After a long, lazy morning, we watch Austin Powers on the couch.
I leave just before lunch. To meet with Addie. So I won’t dissolve into a being of pure need.
It helps, but not enough.
I’m brimming with need. So much I’m overflowing.
I post on Original Sin. I make a playlist. I write a fucking poem.
I barely sleep.
Then he texts me a request and I do dissolve. Tiny pieces of bliss blowing in the wind.
Ian: I can knock off work early. Wednesday. Take you to the Hamptons that evening. So we have a few days alone.
Eve: A few days alone?
Ian: So I can fuck you senseless.
How can I say no to that?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ian
“You’re not serious.” Eve’s eyes go wide as she steps out of the limo. She fixes on the helicopter. Then on me. “Even for you.”
“Even for me?”
“It’s too showy. Even for you.” She shakes her head, but she does nothing to hide her smile.
She’s as radiant as she always is. Teal hair in a neat line, dark lips, grey-green eyes filled with curiosity. She’s wearing a short black frock and those combat boots. My eyes should be on her long legs. But they refuse to budge from her eyes.
I need that look. All of it. Forever.
“You’re making it too obvious.” She runs her fingers over my suit-jacket. My wrist. My thumb. Her fingers intertwine with mine. “Showing off your skills. It’s blowing your cover.”
“You’re worried about my cover?”
She squeezes my hand. “Player to player.”
“You admit your true identity?”
“Theoretically. If I were a spy—”
“An assassin.”
“I’d offer professional courtesy.”
“How honorable.”
“Thank you.” She turns back to the helicopter. Shakes her head ridiculous. “Or maybe I’m saying that to lull you into a false sense of security.”
“Kill me the second we land.”
“In the air.”
“Ambitious.”
She nods. “Easier to throw your body in the Hudson.”
“How are you going to weigh it down?”
“Are you telling me how to do my job?”
My laugh is low. Hearty. “How patronizing of me.”
“I count on men underestimating me.”
“It’s not working then.” I motion for her to follow. “I know you’re capable of anything. That’s why I’m taking precautions.”