Page 62 of Love Under the Microscope
He gasps. “You’re clearly a boy band fan.”
“Only of the greatest boy bands of all time.”
He can’t stop laughing. “I’m not sure I agree on the greatest. So maybe I can’t be your friend either.”
I make an exaggerated sigh. “That’s too bad because I have a lot of fun with you.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me close again, which I’m grateful for. I didn’t like moving away from him during our banter.
“That’s better,” he says. “I like touching you and feeling your breath on my skin.”
“I don’t know that lyric.”
“It’s a Jack Parker original.”
“Do you have any more?”
“Let’s see.” He tilts his head and brushes his lips over my hair. “You excite me, and I can’t stop thinking of what I’d like to do to you, mostly things with us both being naked.”
“I wouldn’t quit your day job, but I’d download that song.” My gaze travels over his face. I want to kiss him so badly, but is that really the smartest thing for me to do? Probably not. “Given you’re so learned and talented, how would the interview go down—hypothetically?”
“Hypothetically, any way you want it to.”
I’m close enough to feel his heart rate pick up, telling me how badly he wants me to answer his questions. I know how important it is to him, but I still need to be careful. He’s a journalist. I can’t ever forget that. “What if I say no photographs and you only refer to me as Mr. Z?”
“I’ll describe you as short and fat.”
I consider that for a moment. “No, don’t describe me at all. We can say the interview was done over the telephone.”
“No one uses the telephone anymore.”
“Then say my camera was off so you couldn’t see my face. Nigel won’t think about pumping you for information about Mr. Z if you have no idea what he looks like.”
“I can hold up to Nigel’s interrogation.”
“It might be better if you say it was an email interview.”
The light in Jack’s eyes dims. “You don’t think I can handle Nigel, do you?”
“I didn’t say that, but he’s studied psychology. He can spot a lie a mile away. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Whatever you think is best.” He doesn’t sound enthusiastic, however. “You should have more faith in me. I’m a journalist. I’m a born liar.”
“Oh, great,” I say. “Just what a woman who just shared all her secrets wants to hear.”
His face drops. “That’s not—”
I laugh. “I know.”
His smile returns. “When do you want to do it?”
He doesn’t mean sex, does he? I can’t be sure from his tone. I want it to be sex. Oh God, how I want it to be, but I need to ask. That’s the right thing to do today, given the importance of consent these days. “The interview?”
“You know that’s what I was talking about.” Wicked laughter lights his eyes, however. Then his gaze drops to my lips, and he puckers his slightly. He looks lower at my breasts and rubs his fingertips together as if playing with one of my nipples. Then he stares at my crotch, and his tongue darts from one side of his mouth to the other. “What else could I mean?”
Such a tease. Well, two can play this game.
“Instead of telling you, I’ll show you.” I climb on his lap and wiggle my ass. It doesn’t take long for him to get a semi. I hope this means he has a fast refractory period. As he gets harder, my breath comes out in little pants. “We can start now.”
