When he finally stops kissing me, he whispers against my mouth, “We’re not going to talk about your ex-boyfriend for the rest of this trip.” He stares into my eyes. “That was number two on your list, correct?”
“Yes...”
“I’m going to help you try and fulfill that one too.” He kisses my lips again. “Try to get some work done.”
“Wait. Can I ask you something else?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“What are your expectations as far as us?”
“What makes you think I expect anything from you?”
“Well, aside from the fact that you’ve assaulted my lips, fifteen minutes ago you were putting your head in my...”
“Do you know what that part of your body is called?”
“I know exactly what it’s called.” I still can’t believe he affects me like this. “Anyway, I enjoyed it a lot and—”
“Paris...” He cups my face in his hands. “I told you that I wouldn’t do anything that you didn’t want to do. I meant that. If sex never happens while you’re here that’s fine. If it does,” he says, smiling, “more than fine. But I’m not going to pressure you into it. If you ever want to do that, just tell me. If not, we can just get to know each other better until it’s time for you to go home.”
“Seriously?”
He kisses my forehead. “Seriously.”
Chapter 8
The snowstorm was at its worst last night. The city’s power lines froze over and the amount of snow that fell totaled nine inches.
The skies were pitch black—only lightening to a dusty grey by the afternoon, and unwavering winds whipped against billboards and toppled several trees.
I’m not sure how I ended up in bed with Blake in the middle of the night, but when he’d heard me coming into his room he immediately sat up. I’d expected him to say, “About time you admitted you wanted to f**k me,” but he didn’t.
Instead, he’d pulled back the covers and asked if I wanted to join him. Then, after practically beckoning me to step over to him, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close as the wind continued to shake his windows.
“Over one hundred thousand D.C. residents are currently without power this morning,” the newscaster says, making me roll over. “Emergency crews are trying their best to restore electricity as fast as they can, but if you know someone who is unable to call and report an outage, please call the number on the screen.”
“Hi.” Blake’s green eyes meet mine.
“Hi.”
“Do I need to get you a night-light for this evening? Would that help you stay in your own room?”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t scared.”
“I didn’t say you were.” He smiles. “Though next time, you should probably knock before opening the door. Otherwise, I’ll think you’re someone who’s trying to break in.”
“Or someone who’s walking in on you jacking yourself off.”
“Very funny.” He kisses my cheek. “It’d be even funnier if you hadn’t been murmuring my name every fifteen minutes last night.”
“I did not!”
“You did, but it’s okay. I would never count your sleep-talk as an invite to your body—even though that’s what you want.”
I roll my eyes and get out of the bed. “I’m going to go do some more writing now.” I walk into the hallway and head to my room, but he follows me and takes my hand.
He leads me into the kitchen and pulls out a barstool. Then, as if that last conversation never happened, he starts to make breakfast and asks more questions about my writing.
Once we’re done eating, he shows me into his private library—a large sunroom that features ceiling high book cases, and we do our separate work while sitting next to each other on a couch.
Much to my surprise, the next few days pass with us following the same routine: We work sitting side by side during the afternoons, and in between breaks he insists on reading me passages from his “favorite type of books”—Of course, they’re all erotic novels.
The best part of these days is the end, because for whatever reason he feels the need to personally escort me to my room. Then he always asks, “Are you sleeping alone?”
Even though I’ve said yes every single time, the toe-curling kiss he gives me right after always makes me want to change my mind. And, despite the fact that the storm’s winds scare the hell out of me and always make me tiptoe into his bedroom in the middle of the night, he never makes a move on me.
He just holds me.
“Paris?” Blake is at my bedroom door again.
“Yes?”
“Are you sleeping alone tonight?”
I nod, and as if on cue, he presses his lips against mine and wraps his arms around my waist—kissing me harder than he’s ever kissed me before.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I murmur as he bites my bottom lip, as he rubs his hands up and down my back.
Just give in...Give the f**k in...
I pull back and fix my mouth to say, “I don’t want to sleep alone,” but he doesn’t give me the chance. He clearly thinks me pulling away means I want to end our kiss, because he says goodnight and walks away.
“I’ll be up late tonight if you can’t sleep.” He looks over his shoulder.
“More case files?”