“Please don’t,” I whisper, knowing if he moves in, I won’t stop him. It’s when he inches closer that I realize I’m fisting his jersey for support.
He cups my face, running his thumb along my creased brow before lowering it to slide it across my bottom lip. “At least now I don’t have to wonder what your mouth tastes like.”
My entire body trembles with need as his earthy scent engulfs me while he presses a slow kiss to my temple. “Sleep in. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at three.” Releasing me, he turns just as abruptly and stalks toward the parking lot as if forcing himself to walk away.
Damn I wish I was your Lover
Sophie B Hawkins
Natalie
Exiting the hotel, I catch sight of Easton leaning next to the passenger door of his truck. As I draw near, I’m struck stupid by the sight of him—dark brown leather boots crossed at his ankles, whitewashed fitted jeans, and a form-fitting, buttoned flannel accentuating his lean, muscular build. His thick, chin-length raven locks are partially tucked behind one ear. The rest cradles his jawline pulling attention to his naturally stained, crimson lips.
Dear God, please make it stop.
His current look battering my libido, I can’t help but be happy about the extra effort I put into my own appearance today. After waking refreshed from a coma-worthy twelve hours of sleep, I ate a breakfast fit for a queen. Finding myself with a few hours to spare, I ordered a car and took a little trip to Pike Place Market. I explored the tourist destination before dipping into a boutique and treating myself to a sexy, low-cut halter sweater that accentuates my cleavage and bares a few inches of my midriff. I’ve paired it with skintight dark pleather pants and black suede ankle boots. After a long, steamy, life-altering shower, I left my hair curly, despite my temptation to straighten it, and managed to tame it in large ringlets. Keeping my makeup clean—knowing my expensive gloss was en route to a nearby dump—I settled on a matte nude. It’s not at all lost on me that every effort I made on my look coincides with his preferences. The appreciation for said effort shines clear in his eyes as I stalk toward him. At the last minute, I slipped on his oversized jacket, and that finishing touch is where his gaze lingers longest.
Hastening toward him, I can’t help the gradual lift of my lips with every step as his eyes again sweep me, holding on the bare skin of my stomach before trailing back up.
“Hi,” I beam at him as he opens the passenger door for me.
“You slept,” is his reply as I slip into the truck, inhaling his heavenly sage and woods scent.
“Like a rock, finally, and I feel amazing,” I glance over at him as I settle in.
“It shows,” he replies low, closing me into the cab. My eyes follow him in the sideview, his natural swagger in full effect as he rounds his truck bed. As he eases into his seat, nervous energy engulfs me. Though it can’t be, this feels everything like a date.
Easton unlocks and hands me his cellphone to play DJ, in time with the routine we’ve established in just a few days of knowing each other. Though I’m still a bit surprised he picked me up today as promised, considering he’s had time to absorb the full extent of my deception.
“So, you still don’t hate me?” I ask, taking his extended phone.
“No,” he starts his truck, “I think you’re punishing yourself enough.” He glances over at me, a smile flirting along his lips. “But since we both know you’re currently a danger to yourself and others if you’re alone with your thoughts, you’re going to run an errand with me today.”
“That’s a dramatic assessment.”
He raises his brows.
“Okay, so there may be a small amount of truth to that.” I laugh lightly, and he gives me another whisper of a smile as he puts the truck into gear. Aside from humiliating myself unintentionally, and publicly for his amusement, I wonder what it takes to get Easton Crowne fully animated.
“What errands are we talking about? We know you’re all stocked up on condoms,” I jab, flicking his playlist exaggeratedly with my pointer as the tracks tick down the screen by the dozen before pressing play on a random song. It’s when I roll my window down halfway that I feel him pause on the other side of the truck and glance over. “What?”
He eyes my hand on the knob of the window, which mirrors the current position of his own hand, and shakes his head in reply. As he pulls out of the parking lot, I fill him in on my morning activities.
“You’ll be happy to know I’m a full-fledged tourist now, Mr. Crowne. I watched the tossing of the fish at Pike’s Market and even visited the saliva-infested bubble gum wall, and before you ask—no, I didn’t add to it. I was a little grossed out by it.”