“Because- well… what if it doesn’t work out and the whole thing blows up at me and then I’m forced to go alone to the reunion because you don’t like the taste of my pussy or something.”
Trace froze. She froze. The silence that filled the space between them was so damn large she could park an entire fleet of busses in it.
And then, amazingly enough, Trace began to laugh. It was one of those silent laughs, the kind that was so violent it gripped you in the middle and squeezed the breath right out of you. Your shoulders shook and tears popped into your eyes, but there was no sound.
She laughed too, completely astonished and mortified she’d just said the word pussy out loud, let alone in that complete sentence.
“Trust me,” Trace shot her a sinful, panty melting, ovary combusting look when he was done laughing. “That would never happen.”
“You don’t know.” Why am I protesting here?
He levelled a much darker, devilish look at her. “Darling, I really do.” He cut off any further protest by grabbing the menu as their server, a young woman in a white shirt and black pants ensemble, just happened to amble on over to their table.
“We’ll both have the shrimp and mussels in the white wine sauce with fettuccini. And a bottle of white wine, whatever pairing you think best. Also, a shot of whisky for the lady.” He winked at the young woman, who went all gaga and nearly dropped her pad of paper.
“You’re the worst,” Ash hissed as soon as the poor woman left. “Look what you did to her.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about her. Tonight, I’m all yours.”
She stuck out her lip in a mock pout. “You’re mine for the week. Don’t forget that, Mr. Nightshadow.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Why would I? It’s hot.” Oh god. I need to learn to shut the hell up.
Trace, like a gentleman, inclined his head, ceding the point. The bastard looked so sexy, Ash would have done anything in that moment if he asked her too. God, she found herself wishing she could skip dinner altogether and just get back to her apartment.
Which was just… wrong, wasn’t it?
Research. That’s all it was. She’d use it for her books. Yes, if she could justify what they were doing to herself in some useful way, then it was alright. It was… doable. Even for her. Sex she was pretty sure she sucked at. Men she was terrible with. Relationship wasn’t even a word that was in her vocabulary, but research… heck, she slayed research. She was willing to embarrass herself at her complete lack of sexual prowess just because Trace Nightshadow, omg seriously… looked at her with those dreamy eyes and his sinful mouth.
As if he knew exactly what he was doing, probably because he very well did, Trace slowly licked his tongue over his bottom lip.
Ash wanted a fake boyfriend. What she got was something else entirely. She became increasingly aware that she’d be very lucky if she made it out of the night alive.
CHAPTER 8
Trace
He couldn’t believe it. He’d somehow redirected the night into a much steamier, sexier ending than he’d imagined. He’d driven them back to Ash’s apartment and she’d asked him, with a scalding, smoldering look, to come up with her. Because he was a gentleman, he hadn’t refused her request. He had teaching to do after all. He had to prove to her that she was the sexy, confident, amazing woman he knew her to be. He had to make her believe it.
Ash dug in her purse, trying to produce her key. She was adorable, fumbling around, all thumbs, a blush already riding high on her cheekbones. He couldn’t help himself. He had to take her hand in his, a hand that now held her keys tightly. He twined his fingers through hers and took the key. He threaded it through the lock with ease and turned until the deadbolt slid open.
He gripped the handle and easily opened the door. He wrapped his freehand around Ash and hauled her up against him. He shut the door and pressed her up against it. She tipped her chin, dropped her purse, and let out a raspy breath she’d obviously been holding.
She was so beautiful it hurt. Wearing that skin tight dress, the curve of her breasts and ass defined tastefully, her long, shapely legs on display. She’d tempted him all night and not because she was playing at anything or trying. He’d been hard before he even got to her apartment, just imagining what she’d look like for their date.
She hadn’t disappointed.
He couldn’t stop himself any longer. His lips crashed down over hers and his hands flew, pawing at her dress. She shifted and groaned and writhed against him. A more natural seductress had never been born. How the hell did this woman not have a man in her life long ago? How the hell did she not know how sexy she truly was?