“I’ll tell you, though,” he continues. “I want a lady—a woman that blushes when asked to describe her fantasies. What I want is a woman that sees past the rough exterior and sees me . . . the man I am. I want a woman that trusts me to give her everything she needs; in her life and in bed.”
Then, he backs away slowly, softly dragging his face against mine as he moves, leaving me aching and stunned. He looks off and signals to our server for another round of drinks as if he didn’t just paralyze me with his words. There’s no doubt I’m buzzed, and maybe that’s contributing to all of these . . . feelings I’m feeling. But as I replay his words, one thing occurs to me. He said I shouldn’t tell a man my fantasies unless I want said man to fulfill them. But he told me his fantasies . . . or at least what he wants. Does that mean . . . Connor wants me to make his wants a reality? Or am I reading too much into this? Probably looking too much into this.
Shit.
He finally moves his gaze back to mine and has the sexiest smirk on his face. My body is wracked with nervous excitement, my mind a whirl with his words, but his dark stare captures me. It’s as if he knows what I’m feeling—what I’m thinking—and has the strength and patience to wait it out—to wait for me to tell him.
“I want to feel worshiped,” I blurt out. I’ve surprised him. His mouth falls into a flat line as he steps toward me, his eyes saying, Go on. I look to the floor, unsure of how to explain myself or what words to use without sounding like an idiot. His finger finds my chin, and he lifts my head, so I’m forced to meet his gaze again.
“You deserve to be worshiped,” he tells me, his tone certain.
I lick my lips and breathe in. I’m telling Connor Stevens my desires. In his mind, I’m telling him that he’s a part of those desires. Is that what I want? It is. I want him.
“I want to feel so loved and wanted that my body moves to a man unconsciously like we’re magnets—positive and negative. Like being in his presence draws me to him. I want to feel wanted and sexy. I want to feel like the man I’m with couldn’t even think of another woman because I give him everything he needs; because I am everything he needs.” When his hand cups my cheek as I look up at him, I can feel his body tensing. My admission is revving him up and feeling that; knowing that I’m affecting him this way, only makes me heady with courage. “I want it fast and rough and soft and slow. I want him to know me so well that he knows when to push my limits, how to read my body language even when my words are saying something else. I want to be so consumed with want and need that the world just doesn’t exist when I’m in your arms.”
His brows rise, and my cheeks flame with heat. I said your arms, not his arms. I blink rapidly, unsure of what to do. He’s so damn quiet, and it’s only intensifying my freak out. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I stand. But he doesn’t back away so when I do, we’re an inch apart.
“Sorry,” I shake my head. “I think I got a little carried away there.”
His hand threads in my hair and he presses his mouth to my forehead. “That was beautiful,” he murmurs, then meets my stare again. “Thank you for telling me.”
Lexi has a failure rate of nine out of ten when it comes to interrupting at times I might actually want her to, but on this occasion, I couldn’t be happier to have her obnoxiously break up an intense moment.
“Demi,” she yells as she grabs my hand, jerking me with her as she heads toward the dance floor. “Let’s dance.” We hit the floor, and I do my best to keep up with her, but my mind, body, and heart are all tuned into one person: Connor Stevens. I shouldn’t have told him those things. It’s wrong, and I know it is. But I can’t deny . . . it felt really good.
Cue the awkward ride home.
Connor has been dead silent. So much so, the silence is deafening. I stare out the passenger window and try to calm down. What happens now? Did I just make things between us super uncomfortable between us? Maybe he didn’t think I would want him. Maybe I read it all wrong . . . I suck at this. I’m like an infant woman when it comes to the opposite sex. I don’t know anything, but how to suck my thumb and crap my pants—metaphorically speaking.
He pulls my car in the drive and my stomach twists. Vick is sitting on the tailgate of his truck, waiting. When we pull in, Connor parks beside him and judging by the look on his face, he’s pissed.
“I have this,” I tell him, placing a hand on his arm. He’s tense, poised to fight.
“Why don’t you let me—”
“Let me take care of this,” I interrupt him. “Please, Connor.”
He stares straight ahead and nods once. We both climb out of the car and Vick immediately approaches. “Hey,” he greets with a smile. “Hi, Connor,” he waves. Connor looks to me, his eyes saying, I want to kill him. He never looks at Vick, just shuts the driver’s side door and heads into the garage.
“Wow,” Vick breathes as he looks me up and down. “You look . . . fantastic.”
“Thanks,” I manage.
“What happened tonight? I called you a million times. I thought we were meeting tonight.”
“We were,” I pipe up. “But plans changed.”
“Are you okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his tone.
I turn and lean my back against the car so that I’m facing him, but pull my heels off. My feet are killing me. Inhaling deeply, I say bluntly, “Your wife stopped by for a visit today.”
His face goes slack, and he blinks a few times as if processing my words. “My wife?” he asks before swallowing hard.
“Yeah. Pretty blonde, mother of your child with one on the way.”
He closes his eyes and takes a step back, letting out a growl. “Demi—”
“Look,” I cut in, holding my hand up. “You obviously have some unfinished business back home that you need to deal with. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but this isn’t going to work.”
“Demi, I don’t think the baby is mine.”
“Vick,” I snort. “It doesn’t matter. You lied to me about being married and hid that you have a kid. That’s . . . not okay.”
“You don’t understand. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but look at it from my perspective.”
Shaking my head, I move to walk toward my house, but he steps in front of me. “You’re this gorgeous widow that for some reason, picked me to be the first guy she dated in a long time . . . I was afraid my baggage would freak you out.”
“So you lied?” I ask, calmly, refusing to let myself get upset.
“More like . . . omitted.”
“You can’t omit a wife and child, Vick.” The disgust in my tone is obvious and causes him to frown and shake his head. Again, I move to walk past him, but he grabs my arm stopping me.
“I’m crazy about you,” he admits. “I know this seems bad, but I swear it’s not as bad as it seems.”
“Please let me go,” I ask, again, calmly.
“Please don’t do this, Demi,” he begs.
“Let go of her fucking arm,” Connor booms as he appears beside us, his fierce stare fixed on Vick blaring a thousand warnings. Vick releases my arm, and I scurry to the bottom step. He wasn’t hurting me at all, but I’m still glad for Connor’s intervention.
“Tonight was the night, wasn’t it?” he yells out to me. I whip around and see him looking at me over Connor’s shoulder as Connor more or less forces him to retreat. He’s not touching Vick, just using his massive physical presence to herd him away. “That’s why you’re dressed like that, right? You wanted me. Please don’t let this ruin what we have.”