She scowled. “We all worked really hard on our routines. Six weeks.”
He had been dragged to the show by his sous chef, Chris Landry, who, it turned out, was dating one of her classmates—the mermaid routine. Small world. Too small.
Veronica had obviously put a lot of time and effort into her routine, he could tell that much. But he didn’t understand why. What could possibly have possessed her to sign up for this class? What did she get out of it?
“What did you think of my act?” She walked a bit closer, and he stepped back. He needed the distance. The distance kept him in check. The closer she got, the less his brain wanted to work.
“Your act?” He gulped. It was fucking fantastic. A fantasy come true—his number one fantasy…or at least half of it. The other half consisted of her bent over his kitchen counter, screaming his name, wearing nothing but an apron while he spanked her with a spatula and she begged him to fuck her. Not that he’d
thought about it much.
“Come on, Finn. I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“Christ, V.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I can’t answer that.”
She bit her bottom lip. “You’re a man, right?”
He straightened, rolling his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. “Last time I checked.”
“Did you like it? Or did I just embarrass myself?”
“Oh, no. There was nothing embarrassing about you.” He ran his hand through his hair. “In fact, I may be biased, but your act was the best.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a tight O.
Sweet Mary. She was killing him with the facial expressions. And he’d said too much. “I… I shouldn’t have said anything. It was really nice.”
“Nice?”
He groaned. She was pushing toward a conversation he didn’t want to have. One he had promised himself he’d never indulge in. “What do you want from me, V?”
Stepping close, he could smell her perfume and see the sparkles on her skin shimmer in the soft moonlight.
The night air was still. A car door slammed in the distance and a cackle echoed from the end of the alley.
“Tell me what you really think,” she said.
He shook his head.
“Please, Finn.” Her eyes pleaded with desperation. Was she seeking approval? Validation? She didn’t need practice. She’d had every man in the audience mesmerized, including his sous chef, whom he almost decked when his groans became far too frequent.
“I need to know I’m not a joke. I need to know—” Her eyes darted away toward the brick wall. “I need to know I’m desirable.”
She had no fucking clue. She was desirable every damn day. Despite her frumpy clothes and glasses, and even though she always pulled her hair away from her face, she was sexy as hell. But now, like this, her sexy level had been kicked to unfathomable heights.
“V… You’re…” He swallowed hard around the desirous knot in his throat.
Her body went rigid and her mouth turned down in a frown. Shit. She was really worried about this. He saw the pain in her eyes. The fear of what his answer might be. And although his brain told him to lie—lie his pants off—his heart just couldn’t break her spirit.
With a deep breath, he laid himself out on the line. “You were the hottest, sexiest thing I have ever seen, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He swiped a stray hair away from her face. “You’re beautiful every day, V, half naked or not. You’re always the most beautiful woman in the room.”
She smiled, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her eyes watered.
“The housewife thing?” he went on. “I know you, and it was the perfect way to describe what I was watching up on that stage. You obviously have some kind of inner siren dying to get out.”
Before he could think about the ramifications of his words, she vaulted toward him and wrapped one arm around his neck, giving him the biggest and hardest hug he’d ever received. She was still holding the book tight against her body.
He stood still, but only for a moment, then lifted his arms and put them around her back, returning her affection.