“You’re such a player. And I’m not beautiful.”
He bites his lip, as he ponders an answer before he elevates his hand again, and this time he splays his fingers over my cheek, lowers his mouth to my ear, and practically inhales me, experiencing every bit of tension moving through my body.
“Yes, you are. You’re just not aware of it,” he breathes slowly over my sensitive earlobe, and I stop drawing air in for a second, trying to calm my racing heart.
I take a long breath, struggling to compose myself, while he straightens and looks at me with a famished grin on his face.
“Listen, Demon. Damon.” I clear my throat. “Mr. Damon. I don’t want to get in trouble. I’m not beautiful. I’m just someone you haven’t seen before. Not beautiful at all. Just a regular person. I’ll be living in your house. We don’t have to talk to each other, okay? Don’t have to know about each other, either.”
He tilts his head to the side, as if he’s so damn amused by the silly words peeling off my lips.
“Seriously, now,” I go on. “I can eat in my room. Get into the pool when you’re not home. Go to work when I find a job.”
His finger goes up again.
“About that. I might have the perfect job for you.”
My eyebrows wiggle up.
“Oh.” I murmur, with a hint if irony. “You were interviewing me for a job just now?”
I swat ah his hand to let me go. He doesn’t move.
“What kind of job is it?” I ask. “Does it involve paid sex?”
He gives me a quiet wolfish laugh.
“It might if you’re up for it.”
“Seriously now.”
“Seriously. You can work a few nights a week at my club.”
“As what exactly?”
“All the bouncer positions have been filled.”
“Haha.”
“What are you studying?”
“In school?”
“No. In your room.”
I wave him off.
“Criminal psychology.”
His playful expression shifts, replaced by a kernel of curiosity.
“Are you serious?”
“Have never been more serious. I can’t wait to graduate, get my diploma, and start examining criminal minds.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
The truth is, I’m not, but I find it amusing that something about me has made him pay attention.