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“How has your night been?” he murmurs huskily between kisses.
I tilt my head, exposing more skin, unable to stop myself. He lingers on my pulse point, which is bounding beneath my skin, giving away the effect he has on me every time he touches me.
“Fine,” I whisper.
“Just fine?” he asks, a hint of humor in his tone.
“Hmm,” I purr.
He tucks a wisp of hair behind my ear when it gets in his way. I have it pulled up, but my unruly locks never stay that way for long.
“I had a great night,” he admits without me asking, and my spine goes rigid all over again, like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
My eyes open as I move away from him.
“That’s good.” I try to fake it but fail miserably. My words come out sounding prickly, just like I’m feeling.
“That woman was hilarious. She had me cracking up the entire time.”
Beautiful and funny. Awesome.
“Glad you had such a great time tonight.” I pretend to study my painting, but I’m an artist, not an actress. I’m sure my tense posture and failure to look in Sam’s direction are giving me away.
The room is silent. I refuse to look over at Sam even though I’m positive he’s studying me. I know he’ll spot the vulnerability in my glossy gaze if I do. I don’t want him to see the anger lying there. The irritation. The hurt.
My stomach tightens when my memory flashes to the night we spent together. The weight of his body pinning me to the bed. Our hands intertwined overhead. The feeling of him moving inside me and grinding on my clit. The build, the climax. The look in his eyes as he watched me lose all sense of control while begging him not to stop. But in the next instant, I’m picturing him out with the rich debutante who purchased him like a cheap hooker. The nausea rises, along with the conflict inside my head.
While the silence drags heavily throughout the room, the thunder booms in the distance as the storm grows closer. I steal a glance at Sam despite trying not to. He’s smirking, and like a reflex, my temper ignites.
“Is something wrong?” he asks smugly, like he knows I’m bothered by his date and it amuses him.
Sam looks so damn good, standing there in dress pants and a button-down shirt, distracting me from my anger. He’s only making things worse. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair again, and I wonder if her fingers were there earlier. And I’m pissed that I’m wondering. I’m so mad that I care. I knew better than to put myself in this position.
I grit my teeth. “What could possibly be wrong?”
He moves closer as I attempt to step away. But there’s nothing but a wall behind me. Sam crowds my space, and his cologne fills my nostrils, triggering me like an aphrodisiac.
“It just seems like something’s bothering you.”
I don’t answer. His chest presses against my breasts. My shirt slips further down my arm, the neckline dipping across my breast. The pad of his thumb starts tracing my collarbone. I’m holding my breath.
“Funny thing happened tonight,” he continues, unbothered by my silence. He has all the power right now. Maybe he always has. He runs his nose along the length of my neck, stopping to nip my earlobe. “Alexa, the woman who bid on me at the auction …”
I roll my eyes. Alexa. Of course she has a sexy name to go along with her sexy body.
“Her mom is apparently a huge Hawks fan. She has been her whole life.”
“How nice for her.” My words reek of sarcasm.
He ignores my tone as he teasingly bites the edge of my jaw and then soothes it with his tongue. “So, she …”
“Alexa,” I say bitterly, filling in the blank on who she is.
He smirks, and my frown deepens. “Right. Alexa bought me for a reason the other night.”
“And what was that reason, Sam? So she could take you back to her place and hang out with you, naked?”
He chuckles as if any of this is remotely funny and ducks to the side to force my eyes back to his when I look away. “Do you have something you want to ask me, Doe?” His tone is smooth and confident. The opposite of mine.
