Lies(20)

His tongue plays behind his cheek. “Well, I don’t like it when you’re unhappy or angry. Especially not at me.”

“All right.”

“Was that the correct answer?”

“It wasn’t a completely bad one, I guess. Though, honestly, the bar for any chance of you behaving like a normal, well-adjusted member of society has been set pretty damn low.”

Despite my words, he nods, satisfied. “This is kind of challenging, having a relationship where you’re actually aware of who and what I am. It’s interesting. Not something I thought I’d ever do, but…”

“A real growth experience, huh?”

“It is.” His gaze is warm, fingers trailing along the top of his towel, over his flat stomach. It’s almost like he wants to draw my attention to the bulge beneath the towel. What a showoff. He’s all but feeling himself up. And he’s totally doing this on purpose, trying to turn me on with his hot looks and hard body. Probably in an attempt to lure me into forgiving him or at least going easier. Either way, I’ll give the man this much, he’s perfected the art of the come-hither stare. Wonder if they gave him training in that too.

“Forget it,” I say. “Garbage and recycling are on Tuesday, and you like your sex on a Saturday night if you’re in town. It’s not even the right day of the week, Thom…”

“Very funny. Just thought we could both do with a little stress release.”

“Not happening.”

“No?”

“Hell no. You just told me you stalked me, for goodness’ sake. So stop it.”

“Stop what?” One side of his lips rises. “What am I doing, Betty?”

“You know what you’re doing.” I laugh and it’s a pained kind of sound. “The whole bedroom eyes and running your hands over your body and fumbling around with the tuck in your towel. This whole seduction thing you’ve got going on…just stop it. You disgust me.”

“Is that why your nipples are hard?”

“Shut up and get dressed.”

“No need for me to rush if you’re enjoying the view,” he rumbles in a low, lusty voice. “If this life has taught me anything, it’s to appreciate the quiet moments among the chaos. You have to enjoy yourself when you can.”

“Save the philosophy. We are not having sex. I don’t even like you.”

“Oh, I think you like me a little bit. And you’re bound to like me a lot more when I’ve got you naked beneath me, screaming my name.”

Holy shit. I stare at him, dumbstruck. “You did not just say that to me.”

“Want me to say it again?” he offers. “I can talk dirty to you in French if you’d like. Or Arabic, Spanish, Russian, Mandarin…lady’s choice.”

“Enough. You’re not funny.” My panties are not wet because of him. I just had a slight accident or something. Either that or my vagina is confused. And who could blame it? Meanwhile, heat is creeping up my neck, giving me away. Goddammit. I’m honestly not sure if I’m turned on, embarrassed, or a weird combination of both. If I had to categorize Thom and his penis previously, I’d say big but doesn’t know what to do with it. The man standing before me, however, I’m pretty sure he knows exactly how to handle himself. “I mean it.”

“No joke. Let me show you. I’ve got all sorts of skills you might find useful.”

“Thom—”

“I’ll give it to you right this time, I promise. Be the best you’ve ever had.”

“N-no.”

He cocks his head. “What’s wrong, babe? You look like you’re getting a little flustered. Not feeling a bit heated, are you?”

“I said we could maybe be friends. That’s all.”

“Sure. We could be friends who fuck, for a start.”

“We are not…no.” I take a deep breath. “Why are you even doing this?”

The man stares at me with the heat of a thousand suns and I am dead. My emotional walls, sense of self-preservation, and various other fortifications erected over the past twenty-six years are nothing but rubble. All that remains is a girl-shaped mess spread across the remarkably unattractive and scratchy khaki blanket.

Thom has won.

“I already told you,” he says. “I like your smile.”

Hard banging on the bedroom door, followed by Henry yelling, “Thom, got your hacker on the line ready to talk. Get out here.”

“Be there in a minute.” Thom reaches for his pants. Thank fuck.

Footsteps head back up the hall—Henry returning to his workbench, no doubt. Guess he’s forgoing sleep, like Thom. I myself am in need of a nap and starting to get more than a little ragged. Worn out. And this scene hasn’t helped. For some stupid reason, I’m all emotional, almost on the verge of tears again. This is not normal for me. Not even remotely. Sure, I may bawl my eyes out at the end of certain movies (looking at you, Titanic). But generally, I prefer descriptors such as stalwart and stoic. For all my somewhat bitchy mouth, I do tend to generally just deal with shit. Though, to be fair, I’ve never been in it this deep before. My resting heart rate may never return to normal. Let alone my overly busy mind, the tremors coming and going in my hands, and the excessive perspiration.