Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“I hope,” I say, jamming my eyes shut as heat swamps my face, “that while we discuss aquariums, he’ll also show an interest in me?” Floorboards creak and air stirs; large hands cover my shoulders and start squeezing rhythmically. I gasp. “What are you doing?”
Damon’s touch is firm, careful. “Helping you relax.”
Ha. “You’ll have to do that all day.”
His voice softens. “What’s the worst that can happen, Leon?”
“I could be myself.”
His fingers stiffen at the curves of my shoulders. “Not a bad thing.”
“For Roger, it would be. His profile says he’s attracted to extroverts. So. I need a big personality. Loud. Obnoxious.” I tip my head back. “Any tips?”
Damon’s lips hitch up on one side and he shakes his head, eyes clashing with mine. “You’re already getting the hang of it.”
I poke my tongue out, and Damon bends down cheekily, as if to swipe me into a naughty kiss. My heart momentarily rams up my throat and I don’t pull away even though I’m telling myself to.
He pauses, as if thinking twice about touching his tongue to mine, and pulls back. His nose bumps against my nose; his hands shift to support my neck. It’s . . . rather comfortable. Pressure at all the right points. He looks me in the eye. “Tips. Let me think.”
His words tickle over my cheek, and I’m struck with a shiver and a very bad idea. “Could you pretend you’re Roger?”
His expression doesn’t change, but his fingers flex against me. He hums low in his throat, a decidedly sexy sound that I feel in southern regions. A glint enters his eye. “Do I get to kiss you after?”
“Funny,” I croak, but his intoxicating scent fills my lungs.
“I’m many things, Leon. Funny isn’t one of them.”
His voice is fuzzing my brain. It’s taking over key areas of myself, physical ones mostly, but also seducing my logical senses. I can’t have too many of these; in another breath, I’m murmuring, “One snog for helping me.” It feels thrilling to give in; it feels like failure. I pull my head up, biting my lip towards my sewing machine. Damon is no doubt grinning at scoring this win, I can feel the victory in the way his fingers dance over my back. “Just a kiss, Damon.”
“For today.”
I glance over my shoulder, scowling. It’s half-hearted at best and he knows it. Whatever. I might have very poor self-control. Might get rather . . . hot around him. But these reactions are all skin deep. No other part of me takes him seriously. He’s after some fun. Probably a little desperate for some if he truly hasn’t put himself out there in years. Maybe I’m his runway to getting his old mojo back. A safe way to work on his seduction skills before he once more morphs into his playboy self.
“Roger, Roger, Roger,” I say aloud, refocusing on the primary problem. “He’s a very sweet guy, loves animals. Has always had an affinity for the ocean.”
Damon’s fingers trail over my machine as he moves all that smooth skin around the table. “I recall.”
I pause at that. But of course Damon knows Roger. He knows everyone.
“He’s a decent guy, but the reason I was so curious how you asked him out is that . . . you aren’t exactly his—” he stops suddenly, hazel eyes thoughtful. “Never mind. Where are you meeting?”
“Tea rooms.”
“Order for him. He likes that kind of dominance.”
“How do you know?”
Damon looks at me in that Trust me, I know kind of way, and oh shit. He really knows Roger. “You’ve been up in his books.”
He’s momentarily puzzled, and then he nods. “Before you. We lasted a few weeks.”
Longer than we did. Not that it matters.
Steamy images hijack my mind. Damon fucking Roger over backroom pet supplies, making him howl along with the dogs waiting for their biscuits in the storefront. I can’t too well visualise Roger, so most of this image is Damon, naked, furiously jack-rabbiting his way to—
Softly, “What are you thinking that’s making you blush like that?”
I slice my attention to the folds of material bunched at the side of my pink machine. Maybe I shouldn’t date Roger. Maybe I should—
Ridiculous. I can’t eliminate everyone Damon has slept with. There’d be no options left.
I lift my chin. “I’m thinking how much I need today to go well.”
“Be bossy. He’ll love it.” Damon moves back around the table, leaving fingerprints everywhere. “Now practice with me.”
I fluster. Practice how? Um . . . “Sit down, please?”
His nose squishes up.
Right. Yes.
“Sit down,” I try again, but a please rumbles up my throat, and I belatedly slap my mouth. “How do you do it?”
Damon perches himself on the edge of my table, close to me. He crooks a large finger under my chin and leans infinitesimally closer, enough that the air stirs and I breathe in his sea-laced musk. “Listen.”