Wishing Well(12)
“I have a problem,” I confessed sheepishly, unable to raise my voice above a whisper.
Taking the opportunity to lean closer, as if he couldn’t hear my teeny tiny voice, his eyes swept down the neckline of my dress, my arm tightening over my breasts in response. I hated that my body reacted, my thighs clenching together as a chill coursed down my spine.
“Perhaps I have a solution,” he whispered back. Somehow he sounded even more dangerous when his voice was barely a breath.
My cheeks flamed more. “I don’t have anything to wear with the dress, as in anything ...” Eyes widening, I tried to convey what I meant without actually saying it.
Vincent’s eyes scanned down my legs to land on my bare feet.
“I see,” he commented, a sly grin stretching his mouth. “Normally, I would find the information alluring, an invitation to find out more, but seeing as we’ve just met...”
“Stop being a perv,” I blurted out, censure thick in my tone.
His grin widened, his hand splaying over his chest as if he’d actually been offended by my words. “I am but a man, ma chérie . You can’t hold it against me.”
Not knowing how to respond to the charm that was like a second skin wrapping this man, I muttered, “Maybe I should order room service and stay in.”
“Or,” he countered, “you can give me your wet clothes, I can send them to be cleaned, and we can return to the boutique where we can purchase whatever else you need to complete your outfit. Shoes, perhaps.”
My eyebrows pulled together. “I’m not as concerned with shoes as the other things.”
“And I’m not as concerned with the other things as you are.”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the door and waved my hand for him to walk in. “I need to grab my other clothes.”
Soft laughter filtered through the room. “Take your time. Our table in the dining room has already been reserved.”
Taking a seat on the sofa, his arms spread out over the backrest, his posture that of a man who owned the place. I quickly ran into the bathroom, hating how my breasts shook beneath the dress, grimacing at the tell tale draft whispering between my legs. I’d always been a modest girl, the jeans and T-shirt type that spent more time hiding her figure than showing it off. My twin sister had always been the fashionable one, had enjoyed the attention she received for her looks that were identical to mine. In contrast, I’d felt exposed if my shirt was too tight or if my jeans weren’t baggy enough to hide the curve of my hips, the weight of my bottom when I walked within a crowd.
Blowing out a breath in an effort to steady the beat of my racing heart, I shoved my wet clothes into the shopping bag that once held my dress and returned to the living room where Vincent remained seated, his head tilting back, his eyes closed. It was ridiculous to think that he looked like a man receiving a lazy blowjob on a warm, sunlit afternoon.
“I’m ready to go, I guess.”
Without bothering to open those stunning green eyes, he spoke slowly, his accent a film coating his words. “You guess? Or you know?”
Despite the laziness of those words, they sounded like an admonishment, a ruler against the knuckles, a reminder that I wasn’t as classy or educated as him. I’d only known Vincent for two hours and already I wanted to avoid him as much as possible. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde seemed better balanced in comparison.
Hot and then cold. Gracious and then cruel. Friendly and then unnerving. Vincent Mercier was a puzzle of opposites, the type of person that constantly kept you on guard. “If it’s an issue, we could just call this off for tonight.”
His eyes opened, the fan of his dark lashes framing observant green orbs. “Why would you suggest that? I was only asking a question.”
“It just seems like...” My voice trailed off.
Canting his head to the side, he stared at me. “Seems like what?”
Like you’re judging me...
Like I’m worthless to a man like you...
Like I’m some stupid mouse caught in a maze you built with a deck of cards...
“Like you’re tired,” I lied.
Sitting up, he stretched his long legs out over the floor in front of him. “I assure you, I have much more endurance than a man needs. Endurance that is often complimented. I won’t be tired until late into the evening.”
Why did everything he say sound like a reference to the bedroom? Vincent was a natural flirt, and I didn’t want to see too much into it. “Okay,” was my simple response.
At some point in the conversation, I’d forgotten I wore nothing beneath my dress. Vincent’s eyes found the evidence of that slip of mind, appreciation rolling behind the green glimmer before he crooned, “You wear the dress well.”
I may as well have been naked for as uncovered as I felt. Glancing down, I realized it was slightly cold in the room, two peaks poking at the material of my dress. Quickly, I attempted to shield my breasts with my arms. If I weren’t so desperate for food, shelter and cash, I would call off this agreement I’d made with him. Even now, it felt like I’d sold my soul to the devil.
Thankfully, my stomach grumbled, two days without food causing the complaint to be clearly heard across the room.
“We should go,” Vincent said, the heat behind his gaze dying off as he stood from the couch and stepped toward me. Instinctively, I backed away, but he grinned and reached out a hand. “I was only going to offer to carry your bag for you. Chivalry isn’t entirely dead.”