“I don’t want you to have any false expectations about what I expect from you,” he said. “And about what I can give you.”
“Really? Because after that opening, I’m expecting a proposal any second now.” I gave him my most coquettish, under-the-lashes look. “For the record, I’m planning to say yes.”
He pulled away. “This was a mistake.”
Fuck. Fuck.
“Nononono. It wasn’t. Tell me how it would work. Please. I’m listening.”
“I’m not precisely experienced in this area myself.”
“And what area would that be? The short-term, preapproved sexual-encounter area?”
He was quiet a moment. “Arden, I’m not trying to hurt you or insult you. I want you. I want you very much indeed. But I am simply not accustomed to…to feeling like this.” I was about to make some crack about how we experienced emotions sometimes on planet Earth, but he went on gently. “And I’m not going to lie to you. I won’t pretend I enjoy being at the mercy of my inclinations. I won’t claim I’m not hoping that we can do this and then I will be free of it.”
“You mean free of me.”
He nodded.
“So let me get this straight. You want to bang me silly until I’m out of your system and you can get on with your life?”
Another nod.
“Well, while that’s very flattering, I’m not entirely sure what’s in it for me?”
His fingers curled lightly over my wrist. It was probably the closest he had ever come to a touch that wasn’t sexual and I didn’t know what it meant. Only that I liked it: the play of his skin against my own. “You get me out of your system too.”
I stared stupidly at his hand on mine as if I was expecting a magic show, all rainbow light and sparkles of happiness flowing between us. Hastily looking up, I met his eyes instead. They were cool and composed again, just like he was. “But what if I don’t want you out of my system?”
“You should. You will. I won’t be good for you.”
By accident or design, his thumb was resting against my pulse point, the gathering heat its own caress. I heard myself make a shameless, gaspy noise. “I think that’s for me to decide.”
“God, Arden.” He let out a harsh breath. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“So responsive.”
It was a complicated question. Without going all Xtube about it, I didn’t see the point of not being responsive. Otherwise where was the fun? Having sex and not responding would be like going on a roller coaster and not screaming. But, no, I didn’t usually swoon when somebody touched my arm. “Um, maybe, but it’s…it’s different with you,” I admitted. “Maybe it’s a pheromone thing?”
“What?”
“I read in a magazine once that there’s something about…how people smell. Like if somebody smells delicious to you, you’re probably more than usually sexually compatible.” I leaned in a little and inhaled the fading traces of his cologne, that old-worldy mix of wood and spice and cocoa, and the clean, masculine scent of his skin. “And you always smell amazing.”
He shuddered, eyes half closing in what could only have been pleasure, the promise of sensuality softening his loveliness like shadow. “Can we please restrict ourselves to the topic at hand?”
“This is the topic at hand. What if you get me out of your system before I get you out of mine? What if I’m cyanide and you’re arsenic?”
“Then we’d both be dead.”
“Yes, but you’d be dead quickly and I’d linger in confused agony. I don’t want to linger in confused agony.”
His lips twitched. “No, I can understand that. Which is why I believe we should agree on an end date.”
“I don’t think we’ve even agreed on a start.”
“We haven’t agreed on anything,” he said sharply, “because you keep interrupting.”
