Page 99 of Faking It
“Then again, maybe it was for purely selfish reasons because I just wanted to see you again.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “I knew you’d show.”
“Oh, please.”
“You did though and turned everything I had planned around. God, I was so pissed at you. It takes a lot to blindside me like you did, and Christ, woman, you had me sputtering for a few seconds to figure out how to respond.”
“I assumed you’d call my bluff and that would be it . . . but God, you were such a jerk with your ‘she’s a friggin nightmare’ comment that I figured you deserved it.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
I nod. “You sure did.”
“I’m sorry, but I’d never met a woman like you before.” He smiles and shakes his head as he thinks back. “Don’t think I ever will, Cinder.”
“You know the only reason I went that night was so I could thank you for the shoes.”
His eyes flash back up to mine. “Thank God I sent them, then.”
Thud. There goes my heart with his cryptic comment that seems to say more.
“Thank God,” I whisper and then suddenly feel so vulnerable when nothing has really changed. I turn back to the city and wonder how many other women are out there feeling like I do right now. Too scared to admit her feelings and too hopeful that he’ll admit his without prompting.
Most men would be out the door knowing the end is near and yet here I am, inside his house, in his life. What exactly does that say?
Don’t think right now, Low. Just act. Enjoy. Live in the now.
Anxious all of the sudden, I run my hand down the side of my dress, feel its expensive fabric, and realize he bought this for a fancy night out, but didn’t protest when I chose otherwise. “I’m sorry, Zane” I say, turning to face him and seeing he’s shifted so he’s perched on the edge of the chair but his eyes remain fixed on me. “I didn’t think about—it was a waste of a dress to just do this.”
“Well, that depends what your definition of a waste is.” His smile turns devilish as he rises to his feet.
“How so?”
“Maybe when I picked this out I was envisioning getting to take it off of you. If that’s the case, you saved me time—in the restaurant,”—step toward me—“the cab,”—another step—“the elevator—those are all precious seconds I wouldn’t have wanted to waste.”
“And what exactly was it that you had planned on doing to me once you removed said dress?” I ask as he comes to a stop right in front of me.
His eyes say it all but it’s the silence that settles in the cracks of the sexual tension about to explode between us.
Time is slipping away.
Each second.
Each minute.
It’s one less here I have with him.
I step forward and press my lips to his. He reacts immediately, invites me to enjoy everything about him.
The guttural groan in the back of his throat. The softness of his lips. The sparks of warmth on his tongue. The taste of everything that’s grown to be familiar and exciting to me.
I’m lost instantly.
Maybe I have been for some time but only just now realize it.
Our hands roam. Over exposed flesh. Over fabric that can’t come off fast enough. Each inch we feel only making us eager for more.
He guides me beneath the privacy trellis. Then his fingers feel the edge of my hem and then slide back up my sides to the underside of my arms, directing them to go above my head. He leans in for another kiss before pulling the dress over my head.
He steps back and stares at me as I stand there on display for him, hands over my head and wearing nothing but stockings, garters, and heels.
