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“People kiss all the time, Perry. It’s like a law or something.”
I wish it was a law.
“No, I’m positive there’s no law on this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. Checked all the books.”
“What if I want to kiss you?”
I stare at him, my heart hammering, blood pressure shooting toward the roof. “Do you?”
Ryder Sinclair, the gorgeous asshole with the smile that can melt diamonds hesitates. Then he hesitates some more. When the hesitation continues, I want to kick myself. But instead, I decide to be the grown up. I step back from him.
“Stupid question,” I say, turning.
Ryder grabs my arm. “Elliot…”
But I don’t want this conversation in public, I don’t want it in private. I don’t want to be humiliated. I just smile a smile I don’t feel because I’m a mess of emotions. A mess of relief, need, annoyance, lust.
“I just…” I stop. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Fine.” He lets go of my arm and takes my hand again as we head toward the hostess table. He sends a text and then pays on his way out, handing the waitress a huge tip in cash.
I’m pretty sure she’s willing to birth all his babies if he so much as asked.
Ryder collects our coats from the coat check, still holding my hand, and then we’re outside, the coats draped over his arm.
He lets me go as he steps up to the curb where a shining black car waits and bundles me in.
I don’t even ask where we’re going because the moment the driver starts to head toward Houston Street, I know.
“Are you dropping me off, Ryder?”
“Hell no, I’m coming up.” He looks at my face, then raises a brow. “You want to unleash me on the public?”
“Is this your form of blackmail slash torture?”
“People love spending time with me.”
“Not all people, Ryder.” Like me, because surely last night was enough torture.
“You did say we need to spend time together,” he says, sounding smug and sure of himself.
Part of me wants to smack him down. Part of me wants to throw myself at him. And that’s the problem. A man like him isn’t what I want. A man like him is pure fantasy material.
I ignore the small voice that whispers how unexpectedly delightful he is. I do not need that voice. Instead, I remind myself what he’s paying me and this is my job. “So you’re saying you can’t be trusted to be alone?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
The car pulls up on the street near my building and I sigh. “Okay, come on up.”
And his grin is pure decadence and delight.
As we head into my building, every cell in me jumping like live wires, I’m wondering what kind of sadist I am.
This man is dangerous. So very dangerous. To me. Because I’m so attracted to him it’s sometimes hard to see straight. Or think straight.
