“So my story checks out,” I offer a little flirtatiously, “but yours is still unclear.”
“I came up here to escape the crowds.”
“You’re not much of a party person?”
He shrugs. “I’m not in much of a party mood.”
“Oh dear. Skulking and brooding. You sound like loads of fun.”
“Just for that, I’m going to make you stay up here with me.” His words sound vaguely threatening, though they’re contradicted by that amused expression.
Is he enjoying himself or is he laughing at me?
“That won’t be a problem. I’m not going anywhere dressed like this.” I glance down at the gaping fabric, grimace, and tighten my hands over the flash of my pink knickers.
“Pretty underwear, by the way.”
My cheeks immediately begin to sting, but I think that was the point. “That’s not very polite, mentioning my unmentionables.”
“Far be it from me to let you labor under a misapprehension. I’m not polite.” He takes a step closer. It feels vaguely threatening. “I’m not even nice.”
“Contrary to your actions, you mean?” He quirks a brow, inviting me to elaborate. “Helping me out of my jeans?”
“Oh, I’m always available to help a lady out of her clothing.” Another step and he’s suddenly towering over me, and I’m not even short.
I roll my eyes. “I suppose that gets you all the girls,” I taunt, lowering my tone to some approximation of his. “Darling, let me divest you of your underwear.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t his deep burst of laughter. I like it, like that I’m entertaining this hunk of a man, which is why my mouth seems to run away with itself. “I can be your bad boy.”
“Darling.” His tone drops, and he reaches out and skims his knuckles down my cheek. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m no boy.” His tone, touch, and meaning feel like a lick of warmth between my legs.
I feel out of my depth. And he definitely feels like trouble.
“Well, you’re behaving like one,” I retort, channeling brave and uninterested as I press my palm to his sternum. Am I stopping him from coming closer or am I stopping myself? “It’s my birthday, so you’ve got to be nice to me.”
“You’re spending your birthday at someone else’s birthday party?” There’s a skeptical note to his tone.
“What’s wrong with that?” Especially as we were once wombmates. “Anyway, I should get back. My friends are waiting for me.”
“Except…” He glances down at my underwear again.
“Hey!” I complain, swinging away, which is when I spot his jacket lying on the bed. “Would you mind?” Snatching it up, I turn my head over my shoulder and aim a tiny flutter of my lashes his way. Men love a little vulnerability.
“That depends. What’s in it for me?”
“What do you mean?” I retort sharply, unimpressed to have stumbled across the one man unresponsive to my womanly wiles.
“It’s a simple concept.” He folds his arms across his chest, highlighting its taut breadth. “The act of giving or taking one thing in return for another. An exchange.”
My hands tighten on the garment as a thrill washes through me. His words—their delivery—is surprisingly sexy.
“I’m familiar with the concept. I just don’t understand why you can’t loan it to me without strings.”
“Where’s the incentive in that?” he purrs.
“How about a little common decency instead?”
“Ah, well, there’s your problem. I’m neither common nor decent.”
He’s certainly not common. As for decent, he’s been pretty decent so far. And a very decent kisser. Except he hasn’t kissed me on the lips. Not exactly. My cheeks aren’t the only part of me that heats as I remember the sensation of my bottom lip between his. I have never had an exchange like this. Never had a man provoke these kinds of responses in me.
Not nice. Not polite. Not common or decent, but definitely intriguing.
“Well, what do you want?”
“What’s on offer?” His eyes positively glitter as they fall over me, that earlier wash of heat turning from a flicker to a blaze.
“Not nearly as much as you’re imagining,” I answer, trying not to look like I’m lying through my teeth.
“There are no limits to my imagination.” His voice has turned husky as I suddenly realize there’s playing and banter, and then there’s feeling like you’re holding a tiger by the tail.
“In that case.” I hold his jacket out. “I don’t want it that much.” Liar, liar, rain-damp pants on fire, but something like self-preservation prompts me.
“Calling my bluff?”
“Just making good choices.” Good girl choices, I think.
He steps forward as though to take the proffered jacket, though presses his hand over it. “What if I wanted only to accompany you downstairs for a drink?”
“Then I’d be suspicious,” I answer, not bothering to hide that suspicion. I lower my arm, his jacket still clasped in my hand.
“What if I admitted I hoped that drink would lead to a kiss?”