“Absolutely.”
He saw relief in her eyes. And then he ruined it all by adding, “As long as I didn’t physically want you.”
Her brows shot up. Her lips pursed. “You wouldn’t want me.”
“No?”
“No. I’m not your type, and you’re not my type—”
“What is your type?”
She gestured a hand in his general direction. “None of this.”
He should be insulted. Instead he nearly choked on smothered laughter. “Why not?”
“Because we’re total opposites. We’re oil and water. We’re salt and pepper—”
“And yet all those things go so well together.”
She glared at him even as her cheeks glowed pink, a dark luscious pink that made her eyes shine and her lips look positively edible. “We won’t go together. We won’t... click.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I can feel it.”
And yet her eyes were very bright and that little pulse at the base of her throat was beating wildly. Erratically. She was very aware of him, and very much engaged in the moment. And Taylor might not admit it, might not even know it, but she was as curious about him as he was about her.
And he was very curious about her right now. About her mouth and her taste and her smell...
“Perhaps you’d feel better putting it to the test?” he drawled, smiling inwardly as her eyes sparked and her teeth came down on the bottom lip again. “That way you can rest,” he said, his blood hot in his veins, his body heavy, thick. “Relax,” he added, “reassured that you are right, and that there is... nothing... here.”
Silence followed.
The silence crackled and burned.
She licked the seam of her lips as if her mouth was suddenly too dry.
Just like that, he hardened. At thirty-five Troy Sheenan didn’t walk around with erections, or get spontaneous erections. He wasn’t aroused by merely pretty faces, either. Not anymore. Because he craved more from a woman than lips and breasts and a firm butt.
He needed more. He needed his mind engaged and his senses engaged. Like they were now.
His pulse drummed harder, faster.
She wondered if there was chemistry.
He’d bet a thousand dollars—no, five thousand dollars--there was serious chemistry here, and she was either too innocent, or too inexperienced to recognize it. But this tension, this heat, this frustrating and yet wonderful anticipation was chemistry.
“Lean forward,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m going to kiss you and see if I feel anything. If I don’t, then I can safely promise you that if you went to the ball with me, it’d just be as platonic friends.”
“But if you do?” she whispered, brows knitting.
“Then I’d probably have a difficult time just viewing you in a platonic light.”
“So we couldn’t go to the Ball.”
“Or we could, and we’d both have a lot of fun, knowing that we’re attending a very special event for Marietta, something that might not ever happen again. We’d dine and dance, and sip champagne, and I can promise you that there would be no other woman in the ballroom that I’d rather be with, than you.”
Taylor stared at him and swallowed hard.
Tired of talking, fed up with thinking and waiting, Troy leaned across the table, captured her chin in his hand, and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Six
His mouth felt firm and cool against hers and yet somehow the pressure of his lips against hers, made her skin burn and her lips tingle.
Hot, electric darts of sensation raced through her, making her ache.
Making her want more.
Her lips parted beneath his and she felt the tip of his tongue on the inside of her lip and she nearly whimpered at the pleasure of it.
He ended the kiss, stroked his thumb across her cheek and then sat back and regarded her from beneath lowered lashes.
“Well?” Taylor whispered, amazed that a kiss could feel so good.
“I think we can be friends.”
Her heart fell. He felt no chemistry with her, and it’s what she wanted. At least, it’s what she told herself she wanted. But hadn’t she also told him the very same thing?
Taylor pressed her lips together, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “Good,” she said huskily. “That’s great news.”
“So you think you can manage the Ball?”
Her eyes felt hot and gritty and she swallowed hard. “Should I just meet you there?”
“You don’t want me to pick you up?”
“Well, if we’re just friends, it seems silly to make you leave your own hotel to come get me.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t. You’re quite nice about things like that, and I still appreciate you taking the time to return my phone to me last night.”