Tough Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, #2)(54)

“Cut!” Tony yells, and I step away from Rayelle. Her eyes are wide and glazed.

“Shit! I’m going to need my vibrator since you won’t rehearse with me,” she says with a pretty yet annoying pout.

To this, I say nothing. Only smile.

“Lunch, you bunch of hacks,” Tony teases as he stretches and makes his way over to me. He claps me on the shoulder. “Good job today, Rogan. I take it you got to run lines over the weekend.”

“I did. It helped.”

Tony grins as he glances between Rayelle and me. “I can see that.”

I don’t disabuse him of the notion that I can plainly see he’s getting. The less I say, the less attention will be drawn to Katie, which is how I know she wants it. Me personally, I don’t give a damn who knows, but . . . this isn’t just about me.

“Later,” I say briefly before I make my exit to go find Katie.

When I reach her little room, she’s wiping off the counter, humming to herself again, hips swaying inside her chaste skirt. I love it when she does that. It’s a soft, soothing sound and, for some reason, I get the impression she only does it when she’s happy. And I hope she’s happy. I sure as hell am.

“Wha’cha hummin’?” I ask, leaning against the doorjamb to watch her. This time, I can’t identify the tune.

She whirls around guiltily at the sound of my voice. “Uhhh . . .” Her cheeks pinken, which intrigues me. Why wouldn’t she want me to know what song is on her mind? “Just a tune that’s stuck in my head,” she hedges.

I just grunt my acceptance, willing to let her off the hook. This time.

She tosses her wipe in the trash and takes her purse out of the drawer she keeps it in. As she walks toward me, I have to ask, “Was it called ‘I Wanna Get Naked with Rogan’?”

She grins, which I’ve seen her do more of in the last two days than I have in the last four weeks. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

I stuff my hands in the pockets of my black “set” slacks, resisting the urge to wind my arms around her tiny waist and pull her to me. “Maybe I’ll sing it for you tonight.” We haven’t made plans, but I figure this is a good way to test the waters without pressing her.

“You sing?” she asks, scooting past me out into the hall.

“For you, I’d sing like a mockingbird.”

She blushes prettily again, something I could get used to.

I keep my hands in my pockets the whole way to the diner so that I don’t touch her. It seems so natural to want to be in contact with her that I don’t trust myself not to reach for her by accident. It’s like my hands gravitate toward her, my palms itch for her, my fingers burn for her. They have a memory of their own, one that can’t forget the way she responds to me, the way her body comes alive for me.

I focus more closely on what she’s saying when I feel my dick stir in my pants. Shit! Why can’t we be going somewhere private? Or some place where she doesn’t care who sees? Like back in New York, where everyone is anonymous.

For a few seconds, I’m lost imagining a version of Katie where she’d risk discovery just to be with me. Where she’d risk some sort of legal penalty just to feel me hike up one of her prim little dresses. I can imagine just such a scene—Katie looking out over the edge of the Empire State Building at night, me easing my cock into her silky smooth * from behind, her coming so hard she can barely enjoy the spectacular view.

Shiiit!

“Are you okay?” Katie asks. I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the diner. My hand is on the handle of the door, but I haven’t opened it yet. I’m just staring down into the eyes that I see even when she’s nowhere around.

Her forehead is wrinkled in concern. God, I want to touch her cheek, put my hands in her hair. Kiss her. But I don’t.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just . . . thinking.”

“About what?” she asks, slipping through the door when I finally have the presence of mind to open it for her.

“You don’t wanna know,” I caution. When she glances back at me, I wink and her eyes widen a fraction. “But then again, maybe you do.”

She’s stopped just inside the tiny, retro restaurant and I’m less than six inches away. I feel the magnetism between us like a tangible thing. There might as well be hands on my back, physically pushing me toward her. I feel the pull that strongly.

“Maybe you can tell me about it later,” she says softly, glancing around nervously. When her eyes find their way back to mine, they’re like coals of fiery want in the shy field of her face. She’s the most amazing contradiction I’ve ever met. I could explore her for days. Weeks. Her body, her mind. Her soul.

“Promise?”

Her answer is a single nod and a slight curve to the corners of her mouth. So prim. So bashful. Such a little vixen when my lips are on her skin.

My balls throb in agreement.

“We’d better order,” I say, my teeth gritted in determination. “Before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”

From the corner of my eye, I see her lips twitch up into more of a grin. I love teasing her. But I might love making her smile even more.

After we are seated, the waitress brings our drinks. “You ready to order, sugar?” she asks. For most other women, that would sound too . . . old, but somehow this cute, young blonde pulls it off.