Wild Temptation (25 page)

And so do I, I realize.

But not just your after-sex good.

A freeing kind of good. Brought on by seeing him, by hearing him, by touching him.

“I wish I could apologize for that,” he says quietly, handing me some tissue, “but I’d be a fucking liar.”

I throw my tissue down the toilet after cleaning up and whip off my panties. His eyes flick to my core and back to mine. I raise my eyebrows.

“It was a surprise.”

“A good surprise?”

“It was a surprise.”

He grabs me and pulls my face up to his taking my mouth in a tender yet demanding kiss. “A good surprise?” he repeats, this time with an undercurrent of harshness.

“You’re never a good surprise.” I bite his bottom lip.

“You’re not exactly pleasant yourself, Ms. Flighty.”

I wrangle myself from his arms and narrow my eyes. “You forgot to add a bitch in there.”

“Ms. Flighty Bitch,” he corrects himself, his eyes sparkling.

I stalk from the bathroom into my room and put on some clean panties. He follows me in, and when I turn, he’s pulling his clothes off.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“We’re gonna do some of that talking shit, and we’re gonna cuddle while we do it.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t cuddle.”

“You didn’t sleep with a guy more than once when you met me, so shut up and get in your bed. Lose the T-shirt.”

I stare him down. “I. Don’t. Cuddle.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” he retorts. He grabs my shirt and pulls me toward him. His fingers curl around the hem and he meets my eyes. “You can take it off or I can rip it off. I don’t care, but it’s coming off.”

I raise my arms and he pulls the material over my head and drops it on the floor. “The only thing you should ever threaten to rip is my panties.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He smirks. “Now get into bed. If I’m cuddling you, you can’t pull your running-away shit when the conversation gets tough.”

I take a deep breath, my chest tightening. He walks to my bed and gets in without a second thought. The covers pool at his waist, giving me a full view of his toned body, and I’m tempted to go over there—if only to run my fingers across his stomach.

“Don’t make me get you,” he warns, pulling the covers aside.

I sigh and get into bed next to him. As sad as it is, it’s true. I don’t cuddle. I haven’t really hugged anyone than Dayton or my parents in years.

Tyler slides me across the bed and lays us both down. “Roll over.”

I roll to face him, my head falling on his shoulder. His arms go around me, his cheek resting atop my head, his body warm against mine.

The hilarity of this situation is how tender our position is when, ten minutes ago, we were fucking so roughly.

“There. It’s not so bad, hmm?”

I jab his side. “It’s awful,” I lie. Truth: his arms around me make me feel more secure than I have in a long time. Maybe it’s the subtle strength in his softly defined muscles, or maybe it’s the tightness he holds me with.

“Why was your day so bad?” I ask, resting my hand on his stomach.

“Two big shoots—one this morning and another in the afternoon. Both with self-righteous, stuck-up bitches who think the world and its mother owes them everything. It was a level of Hell Dante missed.”

“Fun. And I take offense at you calling other women bitches. That’s my name.”

He laughs loudly, his body shaking, making me smile. “Oh, Liv. You’re not just a bitch. You’re my bitch. My flighty, irritating bitch.”

“It’s good to know that you have such a high opinion of me.”

“Cuddle me properly and I’ll switch out the irritating.”

With a sigh, I lie my arm over his stomach. Instinctively, I snuggle in closer. His arms tighten around me a little more.

“There,” I whisper. “Happy?”

“Yes.” He kisses the top of my head. “My beautiful, flighty bitch.”

I close my eyes and try to fight the way my body wants to tense. It shouldn’t be a big deal—switching those words. He could have said sexy or hot or even gorgeous. None of those would be quite as intimate as beautiful sounds.

“That’s more like it,” I quip.

I feel his lips curve against the top of my head. Every second he holds me, every second we lie together in this way when we shouldn’t be, every second we break every one of our rules, a little of my armor chips away.

It chips and it falls away, despite the elephant in the room. Despite the unsaid words, the underlying current of tension I know neither of us wants to address, I feel myself soften a little more toward this man.

My danger. My temptation. My kryptonite.

“I love the way you can lie here and cuddle me but can’t go on a date with me.” Sarcasm threads every word.

Well, there’s the elephant. And it’s stomping its fucking feet toddler-style.

“I was under the impression you were going to make other plans.”

“I’ve had offers.”

Fucking asshole.
I pull away from him, shoving at his stomach.

He grabs me and pulls me back into him. “Get the fuck back here.”

“You’re a prize dick, Tyler Stone. Do you know that?”

“I
have
a prize dick, babe.” He chuckles. “But yes. It’s been mentioned to me once or twice over the last several years.”

“Really? I can’t imagine why.”

He flips me up onto his stomach. I flatten my forearms against the bed on either side of his head and stare down at him. My hair falls around his face in a blond curtain that shuts us off from the rest of the room.

He slowly runs his hands down my back, sliding them over the curve of my ass and back up. “Talk to me.”

“Would you really have asked someone else to go with you to the party?”

The vulnerable hint in my voice knocks us both off guard. Me because the hint of hurt over that idea was supposed to stay hidden. Him because he’s never heard me be anything other than mouthy and sarcastic.

“No, baby girl. No.” He shakes his head slowly. “I would have gone alone and left hours early because it’d be bloody boring without your mouthy arse there.”

I smile. “Really?”

He nods. “You said you needed to think. You’ve had two days. Will you put me out my misery now? If I’m going alone, I’m gonna need to update Candy Crush.”

I flick my wrist and slap the side of his head. “Bastard.”

He grins.

“I was actually trying to call you before you stormed in and nailed me against my wall.” My lips twist wryly.

He snorts. “One way to put it. Do I get to be a smug bastard at the weekend then?”

“Why would you be smug?”

“Answer the question.”

“Okay, okay. Yes. I’ll go with you.”

“Good choice.” He tilts his head up and kisses me softly. “And I’ll be smug because I know I’ll be the one taking you home to fuck you, not some knob who doesn’t deserve you.”

Knob.
“I love your British words. They’re so adorable.”

“I think ‘taking you home to fuck you’ is pretty universal.”

I smack his head again. “I’m talking about knob. It’s such a great word.”

“And it sounds fucking hilarious with your accent.” He laughs, flipping me onto my back. He leans over me, his body hard against mine.

It’s not all that’s hard.

He kisses my jaw, one of his hands creeping from my back around to my breast. He cups it beneath my bra, his thumb finding my nipple.

“Really?” I breathe, my body responding to him easily.

“I have a date—and with a woman who doesn’t sleep with a guy more than once, doesn’t date, and doesn’t cuddle, no less. I need to celebrate. More specifically, my cock needs to celebrate with your pussy. You down with that?”

I bring my legs up, sinking my fingers into his hair. “I’d hate to be a party pooper.”

I don’t have anything to wear.

So go naked. I wouldn’t complain.

Tyler, this is serious.

You have a shit ton of drawers and stuff. You can find something to wear to a party.

I can. But I can’t find anything to wear to
this
party.

I told you, babe. Go naked. Or in lingerie. With stockings. And heels.

I roll my eyes.

I’ll be wearing that anyway.

So what’s the problem?

I sigh and shake my head at my phone.

But I need something nice. And I don’t exactly have the kind of money to buy something to fit in at this type of party.

“This type of party?”

Full of people who make more in a month than I do in a year.

Like it matters what you wear. You could turn up in a fucking paper bag and put all those rich gits to shame.

My lips twitch as a gentle warmth rises in my stomach.

Charmer. But it’s not solving my problem.

You’ll work it out. I gotta go. My model’s here.

I drop my phone face down on the floor next to me. I’m not quite sure what I expected from that conversation—but I guess something a little more than what I got.

I wasn’t joking when I said that I have nothing to wear. I know I’ll walk into that freakin’ party and I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t have the bank balance to make sure I don’t. Sure, I have some money, but I also have bills to pay.

As much as I wish I could default a couple of payments, I don’t want my car repossessed.

Oh well. I guess I could always ask Dayton.

“W
e’re going to dinner.”

I look up. Dayton is standing in my doorway, her hands on her hips and her eyes glued to me. Slouched on the sofa, like usual.

“We are?”

“Yes. We are. And we’re going now.”

I look at my fluffy, pink slippers. “I’m really not dressed for Aaron’s standard of restaurant.”

“So get off your ass and get changed.”

I swing my legs around with a huff. My eyes glance over at her—she’s wearing skinny jeans, but they’re teamed with a loose, sheer blouse, a fitted blazer, and a pair of darling Chanel heels. I would know because I’ve been staring at them lovingly online for weeks.

“And if I don’t?”

She rolls her eyes. “Then you won’t hear about Aaron’s fun, new project.”

“I need to hear about it?”

“You do. It’s important. So move.” She strolls across my apartment, her clicks clacking. She grabs my arms, yanks me up, and shoves me in the direction of my bedroom. “Heels. Nice jacket. Go.”

Yes, Mom
.

I do as she said, forgoing my comfortable slippers and sliding on my new Louboutins. I grab a pale-pink blazer from my closet and switch it with my sweater. I leave the tank top on. She isn’t getting me out of that.

“Fine. Let’s go.” I run my fingers through my hair to fluff it and grab my purse.

“Tyler will be there.” She glances at me suggestively.