Sweet Liar (Dirty Sweet, #1)(4)

“No way. The One still exists. The theory isn’t flawed. I had simply jumped to conclusions too soon. Maybe because I wanted it too much. Maybe because I wasn’t ready yet. I still most definitely believe in kismet.”

Her hand was on my thigh, like a hot iron burning through the material of my trousers to the skin underneath. It was a warning sign. A flash of silver threaded through a dead worm.

She lifted her delicate face up toward me, blinking her eyes innocently. “I’m pretty sure I can convince you kismet exists too, if you’ll just do one thing.”

Swim, fishy.

I didn’t swim. “What’s that?”

“Kiss me.”





Two





Audrey





“Kiss you?” he asked, and the wariness in his tone almost made me doubt myself.

Almost.

Actually, not even almost. More like, I wondered if I should doubt myself.

But I didn’t. I didn’t doubt myself at all. Why should I, really?

I’d always been confident. I’d had the good fortune of being raised first by a father who instilled power in me, and then an older sister who made sure I felt my worth. Ironically, Sabrina had often lacked faith in herself, probably because, as the oldest, she had felt the burden of filling the woman-of-the-household role at such an early age, our mother having died young and then our father only a handful of years later.

And, to be honest, mothering wasn’t Sabrina’s strong suit. It made sense that she struggled with her self-esteem, as she’d been thrown into that role when she’d never asked for it. I loved her grotesquely, exactly the way she was—strong, opinionated, and smart as hell—but she tended to be too strong for much of the traditional world. Too opinionated. Too smart. Weren’t women supposed to be dainty and quiet and demure? Sabrina didn’t buy into that, and I so very much appreciated her paving the way for me to walk behind her with my head held high, no matter what form of femininity I wore.

So I felt pretty secure with myself for the most part. I knew who I was—talented, but not quite talented enough to pursue a career based on selling my artwork. Smart enough to understand the chemistry and archeology that went into my nearly completed masters of art conservation. Attractive—no one would ever confuse me for a model, but I did turn heads. I certainly wasn’t desperate. I got to choose who I paid attention to, and when I liked someone, I told him. I had no reason to play hard to get.

But even though I was fun and romantic, I never felt like I wasn’t grounded or that I needed someone else to anchor me. I especially never needed a man for that.

Yet, I did like having a man in my life. When I had a boyfriend, the world spun around him. I was a love-with-the-whole-heart kind of gal. I didn’t enjoy being alone, and never had. There’s a comfort in knowing someone will always catch you when you fall that Sabrina had never been able to replace. I’d been single now going on five months. That had been purposeful. After the last relationship that had blossomed and thrived everywhere except the bedroom, I’d decided something had to change.

Finishing school, though, had been the priority, and I hadn’t thought much about how I was going to bring about that change.

Until tonight.

Since I was visiting Sabrina in New York for Thanksgiving break, I’d intended to give her all my focus, not expecting that her head would be wrapped up in a guy. Not that I was resentful. She deserved some happiness.

Just…her preoccupation with Donovan left me free to, well, notice. Notice Sabrina’s boss—the tall, sophisticated, much older Brit with the chiseled jaw and brown wavy hair. Notice the way his eyes melted like chocolate as he got more buzzed on wine. Notice how his gaze lingered on me throughout dinner, despite the two other people present. Notice the crackle and the spark of electricity that traveled between us.

Notice how he noticed me.

And, wow, was he fantastic to look at. And listen to. And be noticed by. It made me beam and pulse. A lot like when Mr. Gregori, my favorite art teacher, acknowledged my work in class. That was what Dylan felt like—a professor. A very sexy, very hot professor. The kind of professor who could teach a girl a thing or two. The dirty professor who obviously had naughty thoughts about his young student but was decent enough not to act on it. He let those thoughts simmer and stew instead.

It wasn’t like any other attraction I’d felt before. There was no pretense. No expectation. Just this raw, primal interest drawing me to lean in, to angle my body toward him. Drawing me to be bold.

Drawing me to have Ideas.

“Yes, kiss me,” I repeated, my hand on his thigh. I swear I could feel the temperature of his skin rising through his pants.

Still, he made no move to grant me my request.

“Am I supposed to fall in love?” he asked, studying me with an intensity that made my heart beat against my ribs like a caged madman.

Gosh, he was noble. Wrestling with propriety even as his desire pressed against the wall he’d so firmly built around himself.

Or perhaps he feared that wall wasn’t as sturdy as he proclaimed.

“Are you worried about it?” I challenged.

His eyes never left me. “Of course not.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

His restraint broke, and his mouth swooped down on mine like a wolf descending on its prey. There was no foreplay. No sweet seduction. Just hungry determination as he placed a hand at the back of my head and attacked with fierce ardor. He was firm and aggressive. He was skillful and demanding. He was in charge.