Chapter 3 #2
"And how do I know that I can trust you?" Because as much as I'd thought about this moment, as much as I'd planned, now that I was actually doing this, I realized I needed to feel completely secure with this man.
"Everyone invited to this thing tonight was thoroughly vetted—background checks, meticulously screened, the whole nine yards. You're safer here than anywhere else in the city."
That was a valid argument, and I knew from my own personal experience that he wasn't exaggerating about the vetting process.
A siren blared to life somewhere below us, causing us to pause our conversation for a few moments, both of us still staring at the city spread out before us.
"What about you?" he eventually asked. "What secrets are you hiding?"
Touché. "Me? I'm, well, I'm not hiding any big secrets..." Just maybe a boring love life, which I would never admit to him. "I'm just a woman looking for a good time tonight."
Was that an okay thing to say? Too forward? Too blatantly obvious and desperate?
Daring to glance over at him, I saw a smile play about his lips. "Ready for that dance, love?"
Yes, I most definitely was. Time to get out of my head and just feel. I couldn't allow myself to get so distracted or worried or anxious about my original mission. I absolutely had to go through with it. If I chickened out now, I'd never forgive myself later.
Nodding at him, I allowed him to take my hand, and together, we moved a few feet away from the rooftop's edge. His hand, oh my word, it felt incredible—strong, masculine, rough yet gentle at the same time.
Not realizing what he was doing to me with only his hand, he gave me a twirl, my dress flaring out just like I'd practiced countless times in the mirror, something I'd designed specifically for this purpose.
I smiled into his eyes which were lit up with admiration. "Your dress... it's stunning," he said, sliding his fingers between mine, his other hand landing lightly at the curve of my waist.
"This old thing?" God, the way it came out, it sounded like I was trying to be a Southern belle. "Why thank you. I designed it myself." I held my breath, realizing that was a pretty stupid thing to admit.
"You're a designer?"
Gulp. That was way too much to reveal. "Hmm, maybe. Maybe not," I tried to hedge, keeping my voice nonchalant.
"Maybe? Maybe not?" he questioned, leading us into a soft sway, our bodies a safe distance apart, but still oh so close, closer than I'd been with any man in a very long while. The smell of him was intoxicating—dark, masculine, heady.
A brilliant—hopefully—idea popped into my head. "Maybe we should play a round of two truths and a lie. Or actually, in this case, two lies and one truth?" I suggested, trying my best to ignore my racing heart.
He chuckled. "I like the way you think."
That little throwaway compliment felt nice, and it felt even nicer when his hand gently caressed my waist, a movement he probably wasn't even aware of, but I most certainly was.
Everything this man did was quickly becoming cemented in my brain, where I planned to trot it all out later and relish every second of it.
"Okay," he said. "You first."
"Um, okay." I thought for a beat, then decided to go for it. "So when I was ten, my sister stuck a piece of chewed up gum in my hair, and they had to cut it out, and I ended up with a really weird haircut."
His easy laughter sounded again. "I feel like that could be true."
"Number two," I continued, trying my best not to give anything away.
"I've lived in five different states, plus spent six summers in Europe and a winter in Australia.
And number three, I'm an award-winning fashion designer who lives and breathes all things fashion and is totally ready for fashion week. "
He'd hung off my every word, his focus intense, every part of him fully engaged. If I could see his eyes properly, they'd surely be narrowed at me in scrutiny.
"Those are quite clever," he began, "because I feel like some of those could be partial truths."
Damn. He was right. Why couldn't I have just come up with completely unhinged ideas that had nothing to do with the real me? I was terrible at lying and hiding my true identity.
"What are yours?" I asked, attempting to steer the focus off me.
"Whoa, not so fast. I still need to figure out yours."
Great.
"So..." he started, "I think the first one is the truth, and the others are lies, but only partially.
I truly believe you're a designer. I mean, look at this dress.
But maybe you haven't won an award yet, or you're not quite ready for fashion week.
As for the other, I'd bet money that you've lived in the city your whole life, but you've probably traveled quite extensively. "
I blinked at him, no response forming in my scrambled brain, my body slowing, his own mirroring mine, until we were barely moving.
"So how'd I do?" he asked, confidence lacing his voice.
Damn it. Was I that transparent? Apparently, being the nice girl had become so ingrained in me that I couldn't even tell a decent lie in a game where you were supposed to lie.
"Pretty good. So yes, the first is the truth, and the others lies.
" And that was all I was going to admit to. "What about you?"
His soft laughter met my ear. "Hmm, let me think. Let me think," he mused out loud.
I used it as an excuse to stare up at him, to study his bone structure, or what I could see of it, to wonder if I'd seen him before and why his laugh was familiar. But I still couldn't place him.
Part of me wanted to rip his mask off, but obviously, I would never do that. It was a torture I hadn't anticipated not to be able to see this man's face fully. Was he feeling the same way?
He cleared his throat. "I have a tattoo that no one knows about. I've been to all seven continents, including Antarctica. And I've driven a race car on an official Formula 1 track."
Hmm, those were such typical rich guy things that I really couldn't tell which was which. Slanting my head, deep in thought, I met his eyes, and there was a gleam in them that was positively irresistible.
Smiling, I shrugged my shoulders. "I honestly have no idea. But maybe you haven't been to Antarctica? And you don't seem like the tattoo type. Like you're probably the kind of person who passes out at the sight of even a drop of blood," I teased.
"What?" he gasped, laughing. "I would never."
"Mm-hmm, sure."
"Well, that's strange then..." He eyed me, that gleam growing stronger. "Because that one was the truth."
I couldn't help laughing. "So you do have a tattoo?"
"I do." He leaned in a bit closer like he was about to divulge a secret. "And not a single person has seen it, besides the tattoo artist of course."
My poor brain took a minute to figure that one out because there was no way this man had been celibate for any length of time. He screamed sex god through and through. "It's new then," I surmised triumphantly.
"Yep. I've only had it for six months."
"Six months? So you haven't—" Oh, crap. I'd really been about to go there, hadn't I? "Um, that's nice. May I ask what it is? And where it is?"
His gaze burned through me. "Nope. You'll have to discover it for yourself."
"Oh. Um, okay," I sputtered, a bit flustered.
That intensity faded into laughter. "You're full of very mixed signals, beautiful."
"Oh, yeah, sorry about that." I sighed. "This night is just a total departure for me."
"Don't apologize please. I get it."
He was right. I shouldn't apologize. I was allowed to have whatever feelings I had, even if they were mixed and confusing as hell.
Besides, something my sisters and I had discussed recently was that I said sorry way too much, and I needed to stop.
It was a common occurrence among women in general, for various reasons, but the only thing I could do was start with myself.
.. before I started a revolution, maybe with my clothing somehow?
"So what is it exactly you want out of tonight?" he suddenly asked. "Just so we're absolutely clear."
Now was my chance to say what I wanted, even if it was terrifying. But I had to remind myself that this man had no idea who I really was. So if things went sideways, except for the momentary god-awful mortification, there would be no long-term repercussions.
It wouldn't change a thing in my real life.
His hand moved up my bare arm, sending goosebumps to scatter across my skin, the incredible sensation only reinforcing my desires for the evening. Looking up into his eyes, I embraced the anonymity of my mask and the freedom it provided, taking a deep breath and deciding to put it all on the line.
"I want to be seduced," I stated. "By you."
Good lord, I'd said it. I'd really just said that.
My heart pounded, my throat tightened, my entire body tensing as I waited for his response.
"Seduced..." he repeated the word softly, slowly, like he was tasting it on his tongue. "By me..."
Did he want me to say it again? Because I just couldn't. Anonymity could only do so much for a girl like me.
A slow smile began to spread across his face, a tinge of cockiness in it that was mirrored in his eyes.
Oh, no. Big mistake. Abort the mission. Huge mistake. Run. Run now.
"Nope. Never mind. All good," I said quickly, beginning to pull away.
His hands on me tightened, practically turning into a vise. "Sorry," he said. "I was momentarily stunned."
Hmm. Not sure at all what to do or say, I stared at him, watching his smile fade away. Maybe it hadn't been smug after all. Maybe that had all been in my head.
"I'd like nothing more," he said. "I can't think of a better way to spend an evening than with someone so beautiful, smart, and—"
"Stop. You don't have to say all that. I'm pretty much a sure thing."
"And what if I mean it? What if I was drawn to you from the moment I first saw you... when you tripped on a rug near the entrance and tried to pretend like nothing had happened."
I was going to die. Right here. Right now. "You saw that? Oh, my God."
"It was fucking adorable."
"Thank you? I'm so glad my rare, very rare, episode of clumsiness was amusing to you."
"I didn't say it was amusing. As a matter of fact, I couldn't breathe until you righted yourself, and then I heaved a sigh of relief that you were okay. And then I smiled at the cute look of embarrassment on your face."
"Oh." Honestly, that was pretty sweet.
I wanted to ask more about why, exactly why I had caught his interest, because this was important stuff and fascinating to me. No man had ever spoken like this to me before.
Was it just the masked anonymity tonight? Or was this man always this way?
Before I could question him further, apparently mystery man had had enough talking because it was like a switch suddenly flipped and he twirled me into another spin, the previously forgotten dancing coming back into the forefront.
This time the spin ended with me being pulled flush with his big body. My chest rubbed against his as he moved us closer, the muscles of his strong neck working as he swallowed, the movement fascinating to me for some reason.
Oh, who was I kidding? It was sexy. Everything about this man was sexy.
The way he smelled, the way he spoke, not just his deep tone but his actual words, and most of all, the way he looked at me, with a hunger I'd never been on the other side of. I'd seen it plenty of times lately, from my sisters' men when they looked at them, so I knew it well.
But me? I'd never experienced it. And it was more powerful than anything in this world. If I could only somehow bottle it so I could keep it forever. Because one thing I knew for sure, this night would have to last me a lifetime. There would never be—
"Stop thinking so much," he demanded.
Oh, wow. How did he know?
And why was that so sexy?
His arm tightened around me, his hand drifting lower to squeeze my hip. Our eyes met, and the heat emanating from him nearly scorched me. My heart pounded dangerously, so much so I wondered if he could feel it.
Actually, could he feel my breasts pressed up against him?
Did guys feel that whenever we hugged them?
Of course they did. But how exactly did that feel?
When I hugged another woman, it was just a big squishy sensation.
But if you just had a hard chest, that had to feel pretty amazing, right?
If you were into that sort of thing of course. ..
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
My cheeks began to flush, because there was no way I was telling him all that. "Just, uh, girl stuff."
He squinted at me. "Girl stuff."
"You don't want to know."
"Maybe I do."
"Okay. Well, I was just wondering..." Oh, God, was I really going to say this? I really should stay away from champagne, or any alcohol in general.
"Wondering what?"
"How it, you know, feels for a man like you to have my, uh, chest pressed up against you like this."
I was waiting for a burst of laughter, or a roll of his eyes, but instead, he made a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a grunt, then said, "It feels fucking amazing."
Oh, that was nice.
"And it makes me want to rip your clothes off."
My eyes widened.
"...which I would never do because it would ruin your dress."
"I'm pretty good at sewing things back together. However, yes, this dress is special to me."
He nodded. "Noted. I'll take it easy on you. Well, your clothing anyway."
I swallowed hard. Because that implied he wouldn't take it easy on me. The thought sent a flutter deep to my core.
The way his eyes bore into me did nothing to dispel that feeling, only serving to intensify every heartbeat, every breath.
"Are you ready to take this to the next level?" he asked.
Nodding, I suddenly knew without a doubt I was ready. All my previous worries had melted away with his sexy words and reassurances. What I'd never find out was if he truly meant what he'd said, calling me beautiful, sexy, and smart. Or if he was just a player.
It didn't matter, though. None of that did.
The only thing that mattered was all the planning and wishful thinking I'd invested into this evening was about to come true.