Page 119 of Easy
From my position on the other side of the kitchen, I study him. A dark, fine knit sweater clings to his defined back; his dark hair somehow tousled yet tame. The pale skin on the back of his elegant neck, and as he turns, those brilliant dark blue eyes that seemed to see right into the core of me last weekend. He’s just as good looking as I’d remembered; pale and strong though lean. Very well groomed with just an edge of something louche. Because despite his hundred-dollar haircut and his handmade shoes, something is just a little bitwrong about him.
The thrilling kind.
‘Louise.’ He smiles as he hands me a large glass with a very generous pour. I contemplate the liquid as he leaves me for a moment to place the bottle on the table on the other side of the room. It’s set for dinner, I notice for the first time. Dinner for two.
‘Where did you get my number?’ I ask, inhaling a sharp breath. ‘And how do you know my name?’
He slips his hand into the back pocket of his dark jeans, pushing one of my business cards along the wooden countertop in front of me.
‘I didn’t leave that on purpose,’ I respond immediately. I raise the glass to my mouth—both something to hide behind and something to quell my nerves. The wine is cool and tart. I instinctively feel little of the first and much of the last.
‘Did I say so?’ His perfectly arched brow matches his tone. ‘I’m afraid I have a small confession to make.’ Confession or not, the look he sends me isn’t contrite. ‘I’d taken the card from your purse while you slept.’
‘You went through my things?’ My voice is incredulous, my shoulders around my ears in distrust.
‘You can tell a lot about a woman by their bag contents,’ he responds blandly. ‘Keychains with pictures of unmentioned husbands and children. Credit cards with names other than the ones they’ve told.’
‘I think that’s beside the point,’ I bluster even as his words make sense. Invasive, maybe, but wasn’t he also protecting himself?
‘Is it?’ he counters calmly. ‘I’m afraid my depravity knows no ends.’ His words drip with innuendo that heats between my legs.
‘Look, I’ve never . . . I don’t do this usually. I know how it looks.’ I duck my head, unable to look away fully. At least, not when he’s looking at me that way.
‘I don’t think your vision quite meets mine.’ His gaze slides from my face, lingering quite obviously over my tank covered breasts before travelling the length of my legs. ‘Because what I see looks pretty fucking exquisite.’
The words, his attention, turn my nipples to pebbles. Makes my panties a mess. The atmosphere changes, the air between us sparking with electricity. And it’s all him.
I swallow more wine, feeling off balance. It’s a strange sort of feeling, both loving and loathing my body’s reaction to him. I’ve never felt someone’s attentions weigh so heavily on my skin. My past is... confusing. I’ve dated, of course. Slept with men. But somehow, those faces pale next to him. This is a man, not a boy. He isn’t to be toyed with unless I’m prepared to feel the sting.
Deep breath. Don’t cow.
‘Why did you call?’ I manage eventually, surprised by my cool tone.
Ignoring the fact that he hadn’t, he shrugs lightly. ‘Would you prefer I hadn’t contacted you at all?’
He steps closer, and I notice how much taller he is now, and even from the perspective of a high stool, something is dangerous about him.
Contradicting my thoughts, he holds out his hand, palm up in invitation. Without even thinking, I take it, sliding down from the stool.
‘Would you prefer to have forgotten last Friday? Ignore that part of you until the next time it grew too big to ignore?’ I open my mouth; heedless, he cuts my words off. ‘I’ve known women like you, reluctant and full of denial. Until someone holds fistfuls of their hair.’
The threat and the promise lights every one of my nerve endings, and his admonishment shouldn’t turn me on...
‘And that someone is you?’ What sounded like a challenge in my head comes out as more of an invitation.
He smiles a dangerous smile as he steps to me. On instinct, I back away, inwardly cursing my reaction. My body craves being caught, but my head would like it to appear as though I desire the opposite. Something ingrained in me feels I should hold my ground—resist—but as he steps closer still, and I move again, it’s like we’re taking part in some kind of dance. One he’s all too familiar with. But then, my bottom hits the edge of the scrubbed wooden table behind, and I realise there’s nowhere else to go.
‘Are these evenings always anonymous?’ he purrs.
‘I told you. I haven’t . . .’ I curl my lips inwards, cursing myself. I’d lay money on that was what he’d expected me to say.What they all say.
As he catches my wrists in his, the flush of nerves and excitement seems painted across my chest.He’s enjoying my disconcertion. He thinks I’ll bend for him.
‘I want to hear you say it.’
My wrists in his hands, I look at the floor to conceal my expression, not wanting to be that person—be secondary to him. ‘I told you already,’ I murmur. ‘I don’t usually do this.’ Why do those words sound so tired? Even to me? When my gaze rises again, I fill it with defiance. ‘Idon’t.’
‘Yet here you are. Again.’ This time, his smile is kinder. ‘Daniel. You haven’t asked. My name is Daniel. I’d like to hear you say it.’
