But obviously, this is real life, and Tate doesn’t look startled at all. He looks infuriatingly calm and handsome, in fact, a lock of dark hair dropping in a comma over his high forehead.
I could kill him. I could strangle him right here. In fact, I could do a dramatic reveal and tell him that I’m actually Laurelin Saint, his friend’s little sister. That would be a shock, wouldn’t it? It would be even better if I made a grand exit, swooshing my ball gown behind me, as if I’m too good for the likes of him.
So why am I still sitting here, staring at Tate Connor’s gorgeous mien?
Boredom. It’s that again. Boredom with my life, with my situation, with how so little seems to matter. Maybe it’s time to do something risky, and something my family wouldn’t approve of. Maybe it’s time to be the rebel. It’s not like I’m really homeless--if this arrangement goes south, I’ll have somewhere to go, and people who will take care of me. Hell, I can easily pay for a year of therapy afterwards, if I get mentally twisted from the experience.
So I stare at Tate Connor. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy. A cocky asshole, yes. But not someone who’s doing this to exploit, or shame, or mortify a defenseless woman. He’s doing this, I can already tell, purely for the animalistic need of it. Because’s attracted to me and because he wants my body.
Deep in the pit of my stomach, something unfurls. The tendrils coil around my pelvis and my thighs clench as I look at him with half-shock, half-desire.
Then I swallow, hard.
“Cat got your tongue?” Tate asks, smirking a bit. I want to slap him but maintain my composure.
I shake my head slowly, putting my spoon down. “You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops on you.”
“For what? Offering you shelter in a safe, beautiful home? Promising you three meals a day and all the free time you want?” He shrugs, unconcerned. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you, Laurie. I’m offering you something that could be very enjoyable for the both of us. Don’t you agree? You’d get a warm, safe place to live, and I’d get a way to release myself in the arms of beautiful woman as much as I want. It’s a fair trade.”
I cross my arms, feeling stubborn despite myself. “You know what? You’re a sick-o.”
He raises a single brow. “Really? But think of all the women who stay home while their husbands go out to work. Is that trade-off really any different from what I’m offering? Without the wedding ring, of course,” he adds easily.
My mouth dries, and I’m unable to speak. There’s some truth to his words because a stay-at-home wife provides domestic comfort for her husband as he goes out to earn a living to support the household. It’s as if Tate can read my mind, and a smile quirks the corner of those knowing lips.
“That’s what I thought. We’re attracted to each other, Laurie, so why not? We can help each other, and be there for each other. Trust me, I’m not proposing a romantic relationship by any means because I don’t have time for that, nor am I interested in that. It’ll just be sex.” When I don’t respond, he continues, “I realize that this is an untraditional proposition, but again, is it really that strange? Are traditional relationships really that different from what I’m offering?”
I have to jump in.
“Yes, because traditional relationships are based on love.”
Tate looks thoughtful.
“Ah, I see you’re a romantic. Well, I have to be honest, Laurie, but that’s not on the table. No love. Only sex. I’m sorry, honey, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“No, I’m not!” I say quickly. “We don’t even know each other.”
Tate smiles knowingly.
“Then we’re on the same page, aren’t we? We’re in New York City, sweetheart. Trust me, what we’re doing isn’t bizarre or dirty or bad in any way. Stranger arrangements happen every day.”
Don’t do it, a part of my mind yells. Leave now and don’t come back.
But a different voice is whispering, Give it a try. Why not? What do you have to lose?
I jerk, surprised at myself. I could lose my sanity! I could catch an STD from this guy and his corrupt ways! But to my surprise, my voice answers on its own.
“Okay,” I say simply.
Tate blinks, looking amused. “That’s it?”
“Yes,” I say. “Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll try it. But how long will this arrangement last?”
The handsome man shrugs with a smile.
“You’re free to leave at any time,” he says. “It’s completely consensual, sweetheart. I don’t need to beg women to get in my bed.”
Then, he stands and whisks our empty soup bowls away, whistling jauntily like this is totally normal. My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest, and I suddenly realize that my hands are trembling. Am I making an idiotic mistake? What if someone who knows us finds out? My brother would be enraged, not to mention disgusted.