Yasmine

 

Only Hawk could have me rummaging through my closet early in the morning.

The yummy aroma of fresh Johnnycakes rose to the attic. Other islanders called them hoe cakes. Either way, they were these firm slabs of cornmeal that were sweet and light in color like cornbread. When I was a kid, my mother told me that people used to call them journey cakes because they were portable and resisted spoiling. Nowadays, most used them to sop up sauces and gravies. I loved a big stack of them with coffee and covered in butter and jam. 

I’ll just look a little bit more, before snatching up some cakes.

My stomach growled. I should’ve rushed down to grab a few, before the guests beat me to it, but I had other things on my mind.

Last night, I hadn’t slept much.

The couple I’d seen in the moonlight nights ago were back on the beach. This time the blonde woman was happy with the dark-haired man. They played and laughed, twirling around in the ocean. At one moment, they shed their clothes and dove into the dark waters, making love for a good hour.

I might’ve watched the whole time and wished I was them.

When the couple left, I couldn’t help but think about Hawk and me. It was foolish to think of us in that way, but still the thoughts came. And then the unnecessary insecurities. I told myself that I was just modeling for him and nothing more.

But still, stress kept me up. If I wasn’t worried about what I would wear, I became nervous about what we would talk about. We’d played as kids. I’d spent the night over at his house once, when his dad let us camp outside to watch a meteor show. He’d ate at my house for one Thanksgiving. I’d ate at his for another.

I shouldn’t have been a wreck.

I hope he doesn’t realize how one of my eyes are bigger than the other.

Cindy swore they were the same size. But each time I glanced in the mirror, I saw the truth. How could anyone else not see? The left clearly outsized the right.

I look like a freaking alien and he’s got this crazy notion to put it all on canvas.

But I couldn’t ignore the fact that things had changed. Hawkins—the funny kid next door with every comic book that ever existed—had now turned into a towering, muscular man.

An image of him naked and hard came to mind. I bet muscle covered every part of him, even that behind. It sure looked rock hard when he walked away from me in the bookstore. I’d wanted to bite his ass. And I wasn’t that type of girl.

Biting ass was not my specialty.

But for his ass...I’d lick. I’d bite. Munch. Rub. Chomp. Squeeze and hump.

No male had ever incited so much craziness inside of me.

My phone buzzed. I checked the screen.

Greg: Yasmine, please, talk to me. I swear I can explain everything.

I shut the phone off and returned to rummaging in my closet. After an hour, I settled on a sundress. It had this soft, flowery material that flowed around my body in just the right ways. I’d always received compliments with this one. I wished I had something better to wear, but funds were low and fashion sense took a back seat to keeping my bills paid while I lounged in the Keys.

For the past years, I’d been a struggling writer in LA. During the day, I worked as a waitress.  At night, I typed away scenes that aroused readers. Writing and waiting tables had kept my head above water. It took me five years to quit the waitressing job and be able to write full-time. Still, royalties were unpredictable. Some months, money rained down and I felt rich. Other times, my royalties resembled a no man’s land of poverty and depression.

The book industry was a crowded circus, full of writers trying to outperform each other and climb to the top. I was determined to be a literary legend by staying true to my passion for words.

Lately, I hadn’t been able to write anything. I was just blocked due to my heartbreak.

I hope this works out and thank God, I won’t be naked.

Last night, I attempted to write, stumbling over one scene for hours. I got nowhere and ended up describing my hero with the same physical characteristics as Hawk.

I need to get my head in the game.

I’d read that bestselling authors always made sure to have amazing lives. It helped them come up with great books. Many writers claimed that one must risk it all for their art. Go outside. Breathe in the energy flowing around us. Touch the sun. Kiss the earth. Make love to the sky.

Fuck a spell. I need to be out here living, not moping around and sad over Greg.

Modeling for Hawk would be the perfect thing to get be back to writing.

After Greg, I knew what I didn’t want. At least heartbreak helped in that way. It told me exactly what I didn’t need in my life and forced me to consider new possibilities. I realized that I didn’t want to be somebody’s sad wife, sitting alone in a dark home. I wanted to be the type of a woman who saw the world—riding a helicopter over a volcano, driving a jeep during an African safari, surfing on exotic waves, and meditating with monks in ancient hills. I wanted a life that filled a captivating memoir. Something that changed a generation.

I laughed at myself.

I want all this crazy stuff, yet the thought of posing naked for Hawk scares the shit out of me.

Most of my anxiety came from insecurity.

Would I be enough? Would he change his mind? Why would I ever agree to this?

Hawk had that rich man air about him. I bet back in LA he dated women that spent hours planning their clothes and getting doted on in some high-end spa. I was not one of those women.

Stop thinking about that. He just wants you to model. Nothing else.

Nervousness delivered butterflies through my body the whole morning. By the time I had to head over to Hawk’s house, I was a bundle of jumbled nerves. My heart hammered in my chest. My palms sweated.

No big deal. Just pose and relax.

I had to throw all my insecurities in the trash. If Hawk had a problem with my body or face, he wouldn’t have asked me so many times.

It’ll be fine.

I walked over to Hawk’s impressive family house. Some would argue that the Barron property was a mini-mansion. Like my sister’s bed and breakfast, it had four levels. A lush green landscape surrounded the place—all manicured and glowing in the sun. Four sports cars sat in the driveway.

Okay. He’s much more successful than I thought.

It took everything in me to knock on his door. When I did, Vera showed me in. She was a small woman that had worked with Hawk’s family as long as I knew him. Now, she looked older with more wrinkles and a slow pace to her step. Her shoulder-length hair was more silver than blond. Deeper lines had forged into the skin around her brown eyes, and fine lines had formed around her lips.

“Is that you, Yaz?” Vera asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh my God.” She pulled me into a long hug. “You look so beautiful. I knew you would. I see you still dye your hair red. I always loved it. Do you remember that day when Cindy flipped out on you for dying your hair?”

“Of course. It was the first time I’d ever done it. I still have nightmares about it.” I smiled as I left her embrace. “Thanks for hiding me while she calmed down.”

“When you dyed your hair red, she thought it was the beginning of some punk rock thing and that you’d be blue or purple the next week.” Vera shrugged. “Not that it matters.”

“No, but yeah. I love red. I haven’t considered any other color since.”

Vera shook her head as she looked me up and down. “No wonder Hawkins asked me to come over this week to prepare the house. Usually when the boys are visiting, they let me off, so they can have their debaucheries in private.”

“I bet they party hard.”

“They do, and they’re nice enough to hire a cleaning crew to hide the evidence before I return.” She gestured for me to come in. “How’s your family?”

“They’re doing good.” I stepped inside. A dazzling chandelier hung within the circular foyer, and everything from the walls to the floor looked expensive.

“I don’t go over to see your sister enough,” Vera said behind me. “What do you think of the house’s new look?”

“This is elegant.”

She walked by and led me further ahead. “Hawkins put a lot of money into remodeling.”

“I see.” I followed her. “Are the guys keeping you busy?”

“No, not enough. They’re much tidier than when they were kids. I’m actually keeping busy with that new little site—Netflix. Oh, the shows you can watch. Do you ever look at it?”

“I have been known to binge watch some shows on Netflix.”

“I don’t understand how people leave their houses anymore. It’s so much to see online.”

“Yes. The crime shows on there are a secret addiction of mine.”

“I’m a fan of the foreign films.” She guided me toward this huge marble staircase that wound upward into a spiral. Someone had carved flowers into the center of each step. The railing was black and gold. It curved and twisted into these pretty vines with blooming metal flowers on them.

“I’m glad you’re going to let Hawkins paint you. He’s such a talented artist.” She showed me into a bedroom. “Had he focused on art, instead of business and media, he might’ve been the world’s greatest painter.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” I climbed the stairs. “Does his mother come visit much?”

“No. She hasn’t been here since Eric passed.”

Three months after Hawk graduated from college, his father died in a plane crash. My sister had called me with the news. I’d tried to reach out to Hawk, but he’d never returned my calls. I didn’t blame him. When my parents died, I didn’t want to talk to anyone either.

Losing a loved one was the hardest thing to recover from.

Was that why he seemed so dark? Maybe he didn’t recover. Maybe he’s still mourning his father.

 “Hawkins asked me to have you change your clothes in here.” She guided me over to a huge closet full of breathtaking fur coats. “He wants you to wear one.”

“Which one?” I asked, when I opened the door. “There’s at least twenty in here.”

“I think you’re supposed to pick anyone that pleases you.”

“That’s going to be hard. They all look amazing.” I twisted my lips to the side. “Which one would you choose?”

Her face brightened. “I’m actually a fan of furs. Hawkins always gets me a new one for my birthday.”

We walked into the closet.

“These are probably the most desirable and luxurious furs out there.” She ran her fingers around one. “He probably spent a good penny to have them delivered so fast.”

“These just came in today?”

She nodded and pulled one out that was a chocolatey shade of dark brown. “So, you have the three supreme types of furs—mink, sable, and chinchilla. Usually a woman’s first fur is a mink. Lightweight, soft texture, unique sheen, and incredibly long life.”

I caressed the velvety soft texture. “Wow. This is on a whole other level.”

She handed it to me, rummaged through the racks, and grabbed another. “Then you have your sable fur. This is one of the most coveted on earth. Silky pelt. Many run six figures.”

“Six figures?” I wouldn’t even grab it. “This is crazy.”

She placed the coat on the vanity table near us and grabbed a lovely one that was absolutely glamorous. It was a blue-gray color. I took it from her, totally drawn to its sexy appeal.

“That’s chinchilla,” Vera said. “The most prestigious of the furs. Lavish. Extremely lightweight. No other fur is softer or warmer.”

“I like this one.” I put it on. “How much is this?”

“Probably right at a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Jesus.”

“That’s the one?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Vera’s expression changed to a naughty one as if she knew a secret that I didn’t. “Apparently, Hawkins wants you to wear a fur and nothing else.”

An embarrassed flush hit me. “Uh...yeah...of course. We’re going for...a classic...style of painting.”

To-total-ly…not…awkward.

Vera winked at me. “This painting is going to be so sexy. You must show me, when it’s done. He never likes anyone to see his work. Make sure you make him show me.”

“I will.”

Unless it’s ugly.

“Have fun.” Vera left, and I stood there feeling like Alice falling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland.

You can do this. Don’t be nervous. You’re going to have a blast.

Twenty minutes later, I was wearing a fur coat and nothing else. If I’d been scared at the front door, I was terrified while half naked and inside his house. There were no buttons on the soft garment, so I kept it closed in the front with my hands.

You’re a big girl. You can do this.

Vera had waited outside of the room while I changed. We climbed the stairs, stopped on the top floor, and opened a large door.

Jazz music flowed out to the hallway, a ballad of saxophones and trumpets, piano, and the tender beat of drums.

Wow. This is how he treats his hobbies?

Hawk’s studio was as large as three living rooms. It had high ceilings and the windows were stained glass. Light traveled through and sprinkled colorful dots onto the white walls and blank canvases. Art supplies stacked the shelves. Empty canvases lay against every wall and they were all sizes—from as small as my hand to has high and wide as one of the walls. A jointed mannequin lounged on a chair by the window.

There was a long chart presenting the primary colors at the top—red, yellow, and blue. The secondary colors came next—violets, greens, oranges. Others dotted the large board—ocher and yellows, silver and sienna.

A door stood in the back. The jazz music came from there.

 “Please take off your shoes,” Vera said. “He’s pretty uptight about anybody wearing shoes in here.”

“Oh.” I hurried back and slipped of my shoes.

Vera got to my side. “Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat.”

“Thanks, but no.” I drank the impressive space in. “I’m fine.”

And too nervous to eat.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

Hawk’s gorgeous face flashed in my mind, delivering a thrill of anticipation through me.

The last thing I need is liquor.

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll have tea, if possible.”

“Hot or cold?”

Thinking of Hawk had already made me hot. “Cold, please.”

“Okay.” She pointed to the door further away. “He’s in there.”

“Alright.” Exhaling, I walked into the spacious room, following the path of jazz notes to the source. His studio could’ve been a one-bedroom apartment.

Hawk stood in the center of the other room with his back to me. “I thought you would punk out and not show up.”

“Since when have you known me to punk out?”

“True.” Satisfied, he turned to me, and damn near took my breath away. His white shirt clung to rock hard abs. I wished he’d had it off because I could tell his jeans hung low on his waist and probably displayed a lot of sexy muscle.

Tiny drops of paint decorated the arms and bottom of his shirt. He wore no shoes and had the most gorgeous toes. Had our feet been side-by-side, he would’ve won a trophy of some kind.

He must have a hundred women begging him to have sex.

An easel stood in front of him. Various tubes of paint and different sized paint brushes sat on top of a table positioned to his right. Near the couch, he had several lamps of various sizes. One stood five feet high, another hung from the ceiling.

Only one was on today, casting shadows along the couch.

Hawk pierced me with his gaze. “Scared?”

“A little.”

He directed his gaze to my bare feet and then second-by-second raised his view up my body. It was so erotic. His eyes had touched my bare skin. There was no protection under this fur. It was like he had x-ray vision and could see me naked and exposed.

He bit his bottom lip and warmed me with his gaze.

“Are you hot?” he asked. “I could take your coat.”

I kept the hold on the front of the fur. “That’s very nice of you, but I would like to keep it on.”

“Okay, but remember, I’m here for you.” He did a dramatic bow. “Do you like the coat?”

“Love it. I need several of these for different occasions.” I did a twirl and he laughed. “I’m serious. If one is cold, this is what you wear.”

“Good. Then you should keep it.”

“What?”

“What else would I do with it, after we’re done? Just keep it, Yaz.” He walked toward me and extended his hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Stop being shy, Cherry Bomb. Art is lines. Lot of beautiful lines, thin strokes, thick strokes, curved and parallel.” He gave me an intense stare. “Lots of beautiful lines.”

“I’m still nervous.” I gave him my hand.

“Why?”

“You’re making me nervous.”

His grip gently tightened around my fingers as he leaned forward and barely left two inches of space between us. “How am I making you nervous?”

I cleared my throat. “I plead the fifth.”

“Interesting. At least I have a few hours to get that answer out of you.”

“New topic.” I backed away. “Why do you like to paint women nude?”

“Stay right here. I’m still setting up.” He walked over to the couch and placed several brightly colored pillows onto it. “Why do I like nude painting? Because it’s an art thing. It’s a way to honor the human body. Some think it’s a way to honor God. I don’t know about that.”

“Hmmm. Tell me more.”

 “In ancient times, the Greeks considered the male body much more stunning and fascinating. That’s why sculpted female figures usually had a veil or fabric around them.” He turned on another lamp, studied the shadows along the wall, and then dragged the light a few inches back. “Think of Leonardo da Vinci who didn’t even consider a system of ideal proportions for the female body, thinking that women didn’t have an ideal size.”

“I didn’t think of that when it came to da Vinci.”

“Go into the Middle Ages and the nude disappeared altogether.” He walked over to the other side of the room and grabbed a sheet. “During that time, Christian philosophy rose and divided the person into two parts—the corrupt body and the immortal soul.”

He brought the sheet over to the couch, lay it there for a few seconds, shook his head, and picked it back up. “This philosophy viewed the body as no more than an appendage. Therefore, if people or even artists focused on the beauty of body, they would be concentrating on the root of human sin.”

“So, how did nudes come back into fame?”

He took the sheet back to where he’d found it. “I don’t know the exacts, but one of my favorite artists, Michelangelo, definitely elevated the nude. He used the human body to express his faith not only in god, but humankind.”

“So, to appreciate the human body, is to love God?”

“Basically.”

“So, the few times I’ve gone to a male strip club, I’ve dropped dollars for the divine?”

He laughed.

“By the way,” I said, “your brain is hot.”

“Then, I’ll be spitting out facts all day.”

The whole time, Hawk followed me with his piercing gaze like a hungry hunter tracking prey. Not dangerous, but sensually exciting. Not creepy, but hot as hell and making me horny. There should’ve been laws against how he stared at me. His attention made my body shiver in lust and my nipples stiffen in desire.

His deep voice danced along my skin. “I didn’t get any sleep last night. All I did was think about how I would paint you and how I could make this session as comfortable as possible. Now, I don’t know what lighting to use, what backdrop to work with. Anything. Now, I’m nervous.”

“Stop lying.”

“It’s true.” He gestured to the long white couch. “That’s where you’ll be posing. Choose any position that makes you comfortable. This session is about getting used to drawing you, playing with the curve of your chin and the exotic shape of your eyes. Toying with different shades of paint. And then there’s...your curves, of course.”

“Of course.” I gave him a nervous smile. “You sound like a professional.”

“I’m trying to be.”

I lay on the couch, making sure the coat remained closed as much as possible. As I got into my first position, simply lying on my side. The bottom of the coat opened, exposed my legs, and barely remained closed near my thighs. I began to move into another position.

“No,” he whispered. “Stay like that.”

I looked up at him. My heart stopped.

His gaze decorated my legs. “Have you heard from your ex-fiancé yet?’

“What?”

“Just wondering.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sat down in cross-legged several feet in front of me, so close he could reach his hand out to touch me. And I couldn’t deny it; my skin craved his caress.

He dragged what looked like a toolbox to him and open it. Tons of drawing materials lay inside—pencils, charcoal sticks, sharpeners, erasers, pens, chalk, and other things I wasn’t sure the use was for.

 “Has he told you how much he regrets everything?” he asked.

“You don’t even know what he did. It could’ve been my fault.”

“No. I know you. It was his fault.” Hawk picked up a piece of charcoal on the ground near him and placed a large sketch pad on his thigh. “But you didn’t answer the question. Has he called you yet?”

I gave him a weak smile. “Kind of. He’s been texting me every day about how he’s innocent. When I don’t respond, he then tries to start an argument with me about books. Granted, I bought them for his birthdays and whatever. He never read them, so I stopped buying him books and got him tickets to sporting events instead.”

“He’s not a big reader?”

“No.”

“You’re a writer. You should be dating a book nerd.”

“Thank you for your dating advice. I’ll remember that.” I shook my head. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because I’m nosy. Don’t move your head.” Hawk began drawing me. “I’ve always liked your lips.”

My body tingled in odd embarrassment. I felt like a freaking virgin school girl. This was insane.

“You’re blushing a lot,” he whispered.

“You’re making me blush.”

“How? I’m just telling the truth.”

“You’re flirting.”

“Friends flirt.”

“Do they?”

He licked his lips and smiled. “I do.”

 “You never flirted before.”

“I did, Cherry Bomb. I just did it badly. Now, I’ve had more practice and gained a lot of confidence.”

“Apparently.”

He looked up from his sketch book. “Do you like it when I flirt with you?”

I swallowed, and suddenly the coat was too hot, and I wanted to take it off. “Your flirting catches me off guard.”

“Maybe there’s a spell for that in your grimoire.”

“Not funny.”

“What? You don’t have a grimoire? That’s the first rule in wizarding.” He returned to his pad. “I’ll be filing a complaint with the Ministry of Mystical Violations tomorrow.”

“Wow. You’re still a super nerd.” I raised my head up a little to try and get a look at what he was drawing.

“Stop that and remain still.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to see.”

“You’re still impatient.”

“You still like to keep secrets from me.”

“No.” His forehead wrinkled. “I never kept secrets from you. Well... maybe one.”

I frowned. “What was the secret?”

He chuckled, but it came out in a nervous way, reminding me of his past self.

“What?” I asked again. “Oh, this is going to be juicy. What was the secret?”

“I doubt it was a secret. Everyone else knew. You had to know.”

“Know what?”

He hit me with an intense stare. “I was pretty love struck with you our whole childhood.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

Shocked, he laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“No.”

“I should’ve said something.”

“I’m still blown away. I mean, you know? For a while I thought you were gay.”

“Oh really?”

“I mean, other boys were always trying to get me alone and kiss me. You were the only one that kept it friendly. I just assumed I wasn’t your type or you just weren’t interested in girls. That’s why I always skinny-dipped with you.”

“Those were always my favorite parts of winter.” He studied his sketch pad and paused.

I looked at the pad. “I want to see.”

“No.”

“What are you drawing now?”

“The delicious curve of your neck.”

As soon as he said it, shivers of pleasure slipped along that spot as if he was right in front of me, gripping a paint brush and caressing my flesh with the tip. My nipples stiffened under the fur. I became moist and needy in all the right places.

I’d prepared for a lot of things with this session—staying still during the poses, not vomiting from nervousness, keeping a positive attitude. What I hadn’t prepared for was my body reacting to him with such a hot intensity.

All that time he had a crush on me, and now he’s flirting. What do I do with that?

He stopped drawing and looked at me. “Did I catch you off guard again?”

“A little bit.” I tried to get the focus back on him. “So, you like Michelangelo? Who else?”

“Many artists. Who’s your favorite?”

I hate when he does that. Throws the light back on me.

I sighed. “Picasso. I like the idea of cubism and its breaking away of existing ideas. He created whatever he wished on the canvas without bowing to social norms.”

“That sounds like you.”

“Maybe.”

“What made you start writing erotica? Is my sweet little Cherry Bomb now a nasty girl?”

I shook my head and laughed.

“Don’t move.”

“Stop making me move.” I remained stiff. “Did you read the book yet?”

“No.”

“Because I asked you not to?”

“No, because I’d spent all night cleaning up the studio and ordering furs. I wanted everything to be special. I’m going to crack your book open tonight.”

“I would rather you not.”

“Because?”

“When I write, it’s kind of like my alter ego is penning the book.”

“And you don’t want me to meet her?”

“She’s too dark and nasty.”

He looked at me. “I like dark and nasty.”

“I bet you do.”

“Why did you choose erotica?” he asked. “I figured you for straight romance.”

“I love romance, but erotica is about the sexual thrills, not the emotional highs. There can still be some romance, but the real focus is exploring the heroine’s sexual journey.”

“Something you don’t do much?”

“Hey. I’ve explored...just not as much as my heroines.”

“Maybe, you should.”

“Maybe,” I whispered.

The moment continued like that. Words filled with promises, flirting on both sides. And every now and then, a low groan would slip from his lips, and warmth would pool between my thighs.

Most of the time, I wished he would take that damn shirt off. I bet he had rock hard abs. I wanted his chest bare in front of me. Didn’t he know the type of reaction he caused in women? Did he have any idea how wet I was becoming under the fur?

And we were just in a room, creating art, and with every minute, my nipples grew hard and I yearned for him to touch me. Never had I experienced something so hot and passionate in the creative process. Never had I been moved so easily by any man.

We talked a little more, but silence filled the rest of time as he asked me to shift into different poses on my own. And so, our communication shifted to nonverbal. Earlier, he’d been flirting with that sexy mouth.

Therefore, I decided to flirt with my body. With some poses, I exposed more skin, taunting him with my bare flesh, loving how he tried to stifle a groan. Other times, he seared me with a fiery gaze that filled me with arousal and I released my own low moan.

It was a heated exchange of my teasing poses, and those looks from him that touched me down to my core.

“You’re so beautiful.” Hawk increased his hand’s movements. The charcoal danced on the page. The muscles on his arm flexed under his shirt. Drawings of me were scattered all over the floor. Desire pulsed within, and I squeezed my thighs together unable to look at him anymore without touching myself.

Is he as passionate in bed, as he is with his art?

He paused from sketching and stared at me, searing my flesh with his gaze. “You’re saving me. Did you know that?”

 “How?”

He set the sketch board on the ground next to him. “Just remember that I owe you.”

“You’ve already given me this coat. I think we’re square.”

“No.” He scooted closer and leaned his side against the couch. Taking a break, I lay my head on the pillow near his shoulder. I’d thought modeling would be super easy, but I’d discovered that holding positions caused an ache in muscles I’d never considered.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fine.”

It was hard to breathe with him so close, and me so naked.

“How am I saving you, Hawk?”

“Weeks before seeing you, I was restless and depressed. And then the heavens parted, and you appeared.”

“More like, my spell drew you to me.”

“That too.” He smiled. “You make jokes when you’re nervous.”

“And how do you know that I’m nervous?”

“You’re clutching the top of that fur like it holds your heart inside of your chest, and if you let it go, you’ll die.”

I swallowed. “I thought we already discussed this. You make me nervous.”

With that heated gaze of his, he leaned toward me. “Is it only when we’re this close?”

His cologne swirled around me. I inhaled it and found myself lost in him, in the moment, in the soft fur along my body, in the jazz filling the room. So close, I could drown in him and not want to rise to the ocean’s surface.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He turned his attention to my lips. “I only ask because...when I’m this close to you...I’m very nervous.”

Desire surged through me.

“You excite me.” Fire blazed through his eyes and he stared at me as if he was in a trance. And it was crazy, but I felt those same flames too, raging inside my core. If I moved forward a few inches and he did too, we would be kissing.

“You’re flirting again,” I whispered.

“And you love it.”

“I do.”

His voice deepened. “Then, we should have a conversation.”

“About what?”

“Us and how we both can be beautiful distractions to each other?”

“What if I want more than a distraction?” My heart hammered in my chest.

Silence moved between us and something else. It was hot and volcanic and bubbling at the top, ready to over flow.

“Cherry Bomb, I can’t give you more. And it’s not...because you don’t deserve it. I just don’t have anything else inside me to give.”

I blinked. “Can you elaborate?”

“I would rather not.”

“Then, we should probably stop flirting with each other.” Slowly, I sat up on the couch and made sure the coat was still closed.

Disappointment showed in his eyes.

I glanced at his sketch pad, but he shook his head and closed it.

“Can I see what you drew?”

“No,” he whispered.

“That’s not fair. You showed me the others.”

He rose from the floor, raking his fingers through his hair. “We should end now anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“But...”

I stood up and the fur coat gathered around my legs, draping me in soft elegance. “But what?”

“Let me take you out to lunch right now to celebrate.”

I looked around. “And what are we celebrating?”

“You not being a punk ass today.”

“Ha.” I started to walk off.

Catching me off guard, he captured my arm and gently turned me around. “I’m serious.”

I looked up into that gorgeous face.

“Let me take you to lunch.” He paused from talking and slipped his fingers down the arm of my coat and then captured my hand. “I shouldn’t even be asking you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not that type of guy. I don’t take women out to eat.”

“Aww. You’re more of the Netflix and Chill type. A glorified fuck buddy?”

“Somewhere in that realm.”

“Then, you’re right. You shouldn’t ask me out to lunch. I am no one’s Netflix and Chill.”

“But still, I want to hang out with you. Just as friends.” He trailed his thumb along the lines of my palm. Shivers of delight ran through me. He closed the small distance between us and pressed his hard body against mine. “Are you hungry?”

It wasn’t fair of him to ask me that, not with my being naked and horny under the fur coat. Not with him seducing me the entire session. Not with the hunger glowing in his gaze. He could’ve wrapped his arms around me or leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, but he remained in control and precise like a hunter.

My breathing turned heavy. I bit my bottom lip. I could barely think with him so close to me, his muscular chest molding against my body. Warmth spread across my skin. If he’d taken off my coat and kissed any inch of skin, I might’ve orgasmed right there.

That very fact scared me. This was too fast.

Yet, curiosity piqued my interests.

“Okay,” I whispered. “We can do lunch.”