London Falling (Falling #2)(17)
I shared my affliction for sexy shoes, colorful fabrics and my love of anything handmade and artistic. He seemed to appreciate that most, asking questions about things I mentioned and wondering what museums I preferred.
“Why do you do what you do?” he asked out of the blue.
“What do you mean? Interior design?”
He nodded.
“Well, it seemed to fit. I’ve always had a knack for entering someone’s home and intuitively knowing how the furniture should be re-arranged to maximize space. Colors and textures are fun to play off one another but the real fun…“
His eyes twinkled as he focused intently on me.
“The real fun is learning what it is people need in their life besides the design. If the home needs the new look, usually it’s the man, woman or couple that needs the resurfacing.”
“How so?” He took my hand and made endless infinity doodles on the top and wrist.
God he’s sexy.
“People have an innate inability to not do right by themselves. Sure, there are egotistical people out in the world who are very ‘what’s in it for me,’ but usually they’re hiding their insecurity over something else. Sometimes a person stays at a job for the money, not for the love of the work. It depends on the person.”
“So you move into their flat to learn about them personally along with their likes and dislikes for the design aspect?”
I nodded eagerly. “Exactly. When I move in with them, I have an ‘in the trenches view’ of how they live their life, what makes them tick, what hurts them, what heals them. I work with them to see those things themselves and make the required changes. On top of that, I give them a new look and feel on their home. Kind of like stepping into a new world, or at least a new lease on life.”
“That’s blooming incredible. The way you see things is fascinating.” His head shook but his eyes blazed with intensity. He licked his lips and bit down on the plump flesh.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to let his emotions trace over my senses.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I placed my napkin over my plate signifying that I was ready to leave, take this party somewhere more private. He’d been sending me sex-laced vibes all evening. I’d had enough.
When he’d paid the check and we stood, a brief moment of uncertainty came over me. This was the point where we moved forward or turned back. I’d wanted him to make that choice, not let my over-sexed mind make that decision. He led me to the street and handed his ticket to the valet.
I stood clutching my handbag and looked around, not sure what he intended. Would he take me home or want to go to his place? I knew I hadn’t read him wrong. The man wanted me. The bulge in his pants through most of dinner confirmed it.
Two hands came around my waist from behind and he pulled me back against his solid chest. “Penny for your thoughts, my Beauty.” His nickname for me was sweet. I found I rather enjoyed it, made me feel special somehow. Besides Tripp, the only other man who had ever given me an intimate pet name was James.
James. I pushed the thought of him to the furthest recesses of my mind. Nothing good would come of bringing up that wound now--especially when I was about to get me some of a hot Englishman.
“Just wondering what happens next?” My voice was smooth and strong, hiding the fact that I was actually somewhat nervous he’d reject me.
“We go back to my place where I plan to shag you for hours. Then I’ll make you breakfast come sun up.” He gripped me against him, my back to his front. The steel of his erection pressed against the heat of my ass.
“And what if I want you to take me home?” I teased, but in a serious tone to keep up the charade.
He growled into my ear, fingers digging into the flesh at my hips. “Then I’ll take you home and shag you for hours at your place where your roommate can hear how many times I make you scream. Then you’ll make me breakfast at sun up.”
“Your place, please,” I confirmed, though, it could have been mistaken for begging.
“Oh Beauty, the ways in which I’m going to make you come…I can hardly wait.” He thrust his rod against my ass. His heat left when the valet strolled around one of the most beautiful cars I’d ever seen and handed him the keys. It was a grayish blue Porsche. I knew that much. It had only two doors and he opened the door for me like a gentleman. I slid in, enjoying the feel of the cool dark gray leather against my fiery skin.
“This is a hot car.”
He looked at me, a sexy grin plastered on his handsome face. “Isn’t she?”
“She?”
“But, of course!” he continued excitedly. “All cars are female, that’s why men are so gob-smacked by them.”
“Gob-smacked? You come up with the most interesting choice of words.”
“That’s because I speak proper English, my Beauty.” His tone was light and filled with humor.
“And I don’t?”
“Not even close.” He laughed. I opened my mouth but he continued. “Actually, gob-smacked is a British slang term for amazing or astonishing.”
“See, I knew it!” We both laughed.
Collier was more than just a fine male specimen. He was funny, easy to be around and his British accent brought me to my knees. The moment we had in the restaurant worried me though. I’d not felt connected to a man on that level since James. It was confounding.