Rogue (Real #4)(35)
“I have had a thousand one-night stands in my life, Greyson.”
“I’ve had a thousand and one.”
“Counting me?”
“No, princess. When we do this again . . . you’re on a whole other list.”
We stare, neither of us smiling, my eyes greedily taking in the quiet curiosity on her face, her long golden hair, the pretty small breasts jutting against the fabric of her silk dress, the tender curve of her shoulder, and Jesus, I want all of that more than she will ever know.
She sets her hand on my thigh. “What list?” She tilts her head and studies me. “What will this even be?”
The unexpected feel of her hand on my thigh sends a primal heat across my veins. One second we’re talking, the next I catch her face and hold it still as I look into those green eyes, suddenly fierce as I study her small nose, her generous mouth. “For me, this is a fantasy. You’re the fantasy. For you, this will be a mistake. A long, pleasurable mistake.” I watch her eyes darken, and I’ve never been a man to mince words. “I’m going to be everything you never wanted,” I warn on a gruff breath, “nothing that you need.” I slide my other hand farther up her thigh. “Sometimes my work will take me away, and I won’t call, and I’ll piss you off.” I graze my longest finger over the silky V covering her sex. “I’ll be selfish. I’ll take everything I want, whenever I want it. I’m not the man of your dreams, Melanie, I’m your worst nightmare.”
Her eyes glaze, and she stops my hand from caressing her and presses her lips into my ear. “I’m not your f*cking toy.”
I catch her by the shoulders and pull her back to me. “But you’ll let me play with you.”
“If I wanted just sex, I could get that from anyone.”
“Not the kind of sex you’ll get with me.” I push my thumb into her mouth, making her taste me. My whole body feels that lick. “I’ll make you want it. I’ll text you when I’m flying into town so you’re twitching and soaked by the time you see me at your door.”
She bites my thumb and drives me so wild with lust, I’m about to slam my mouth down on hers.
Fuck me.
Maybe I will never make a worthwhile connection to anyone in my life.
But I can have this—I can have her, her body, her wild, hot pleasure.
I can have this.
Oh, yes, I’m having this tonight.
I lean over, ready to take a long, juicy bite out of the lip that’s been driving me crazy, when she stands. “You’re an *,” she whispers, panting. “Take me somewhere. Just for the night. Take me somewhere.”
I peel a hundred-dollar bill from the stack in my pocket and set it on the table, slip my jacket over her shoulders, and usher her out.
FOURTEEN
* * *
WEEKEND
Melanie
We drive to an apartment in a high-end neighborhood so pricey and coveted that everyone where I work would whore themselves out for a decorating gig in this zip code. It’s got a gated entry and high-level security on every entrance and exit. The apartment itself is covered in wall-to-wall windows, with limestone floors and stone fireplaces.
I take in the spacious, mostly empty space with one wide-eyed sweep, jaw hanging. “Did you just get a place in the city?” I hand him his coat, his gaze a delicious, palpable thing on me as I walk inside.
“You like it?” His voice holds no inflection, but something in his eyes tells me he wants me to like it.
I notice that the only furniture is one massive king mattress in the middle of the room, and the sight of those paperwhite sheets and plump pillows gives me tingles. Both of us. In that bed. Touching, kissing, groping.
The windows closest to the bed face toward my building and for a moment I wonder if he’s noticed that, even if somewhat distant, my apartment faces this way.
“It’s such a stunning space but so very empty!” I spread out my arms. “I can already visualize exactly what could go where. Dare I say you came to the right woman?”
“Dare I admit I’m not hiring your design services? I don’t like clutter.” And yet he looks amused by my offer—that almost grin I’ve come to really, really dig hovering on that full, dirty-talking mouth of his.
Oh god, I’m still so turned on by what a sexy * he is. He makes me want to slap him and f*ck him; no man has ever pushed my buttons like this!
“How’d you know I was a designer?”
Arms crossed, plus that almost grin equals to me almost panting. “You’re not the only one who can work Google.”
“Pandora Googled you, not me.”
“Right,” he agrees.
I laugh because he’s clearly on to me, then admit, “There was nothing on you. Nothing.”
“And there’s quite a bit on you.”
“Well, I can make this place come to life with a flick of my fingers! I’m like a Mary Poppins of decorating!”
“Princess, it’s already alive with you in it.”
Surprised by the compliment, I slide my eyes back to him, and the very way he stands there screams at me that he’s someone, someone strong, someone you don’t mess with, someone you want on your side. His dark clothes can’t hide the muscles beneath, or the grace and virility with which he moves.