"See, you can't even say it." He chuckles. "It's all right. You're allowed to agree that your mother might be a demon, so long as you're not the one who actually said it."
Sighing heavily, I walk into the kitchen. "All I have is rum, but at least it's good - and ninety proof. Is that okay with you?"
"Unless you have something stronger," he says. "Like heroin. Or bath salts."
Snickering, I pour us each a glass and bring them over, sitting down beside him. "I'm sorry you walked into that."
"I'm sorry," he says. "I mean - I came over here to apologize, but I didn't anticipating having to apologize for this."
I give him a look. The softness is back, in his face, his voice - it came on so gradually in Austin that I almost didn't notice the change, but now I can see it clearly. "You do have a few apologies to deal out."
He drinks the whole glass in one swallow. "I know. Would you like a refill?"
I manage a giggle. "Haven't even started. Plus, I'm afraid that was the last of it. I haven't hit up the liquor store lately."
"Shit. Anything else?" He's already headed into the kitchen.
"Just some wine I got. Haven't tried it yet. It's some seasonal new harvest thing."
He's pulling the bottle out of the fridge. "Beaujolais nouveau? Oh, well - it's a little juvenile, but it'll do."
I roll my eyes. "Christ. You really don't know how to do apologies, do you?"
Adrian pours two glasses. "I'm teasing you. Mostly. I like it, myself."
I make a face when I taste it. It's bright and fresh, but there's a little too much of a vinegar aftertaste for me. Or a lot too much. I smack my lips, trying to figure out how it hits my palate.
Adrian's smiling, and it's wicked.
"What?" I ask him. "It's just not my … "
But he's not reacting to me, he's reacting to the wine.
"This reminds me of something," he says, licking his lips. "Something very specific."
"Oh yeah?" I lean back on the sofa.
"Mmmhmm." He looks me up and down. "A very particular flavor that I've developed a taste for recently."
I'm starting to blush. "I don't know if I'm prepared for this conversation right now," I admit.
"Me neither," he says. "But I gave it a shot. Too creepy?"
I shake my head. "If my mother hadn't just barged into my apartment, it probably would've worked a lot better."
"I didn't know you majored in music," he says, setting his glass down on the coaster. I'm not surprised he has good breeding, but I am kind of surprised that he's not leaving a ring on my Ikea coffee table just to prove a point.
"I started leaving it off my resume after I realized how it sounded." I shift in my seat, eyes wandering to the box he's set down on the table.
He raises his eyebrows slightly. "How does it sound?"
I shrug. "Flighty. Like I don't really want a corporate job. I dunno, but I got a lot more callbacks when I left it off."
"Hmm." He's leaning back on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. His slacks are so well-tailored I can see the muscles bunch and release under the finely-woven fabric. "I think it shows discipline."
He glances at me, and of course I'm bright red, thinking of his hand connecting with my ass. "Well, I'll make sure to keep that in mind when I finally grow a pair and quit on you."
Adrian is laughing. "Oh, Meg." He slides one foot closer towards the sofa, leaving the other leg outstretched. "We both know that's never going to happen."
I scowl at him. "How can you be so confident about everything all the time?"
"It's easy," he shrugs. "Just make more money than anyone else you know."
I grab a throw pillow, and hurl it at his head.
Grabbing it out of the air, he tosses it into the armchair across the room. "Pillow fight? That's not very mature."
"Yeah, well." Now I'm blushing even deeper than I ever thought possible, and wishing I could just disappear into the sofa. I know he came here for sex, and I'm wishing he'd just get on with it, because it's much easier than talking. "You deserve something a lot heavier, but I don't have any large rocks handy."
"Do you still play anything?" he asks me, and it takes a second to switch gears. God damn it, why won't be stop harping on my musical past? Hahaha, good pun. I don't want to talk about this. I don't even want to think about it; it's depressing.
"Not really," I deflect. "You didn't come here to talk about my lack of a musical career, did you?"
"No," he admits, glancing at the box. "But your mother's steely gaze may have derailed me just a bit."
I can't help letting out an undignified snort. "I hope it doesn't cause you any permanent damage."
"Don't worry." With a lightning-fast motion he's upright again, his body turning towards mine, not actually closing the distance between us, but making my pulse quicken nonetheless. "I'm already starting to forget the details."
Licking my lips quickly, I glance at the box again. "Uh, so, in the words of the immortal Brad Pitt-"
"What's in the boooxx?" he intones, breaking into a grin. "You'll find out in a minute, kitten. Are you sure you're not too traumatized?"
"Don't tease me." I'm pouting. I don't know what it is about him that brings out my inner brat, but this is definitely more fun than interacting with him in the office. At work, I've got this compulsion to make myself heard, even when I know it's not going to make a difference. I always feel silenced. But now, as he leans in to kiss me, to claim me, his hand on the side of my neck like a brand - I'm content to be silenced. More than that, I want to be silenced.
Why? How is this different?
Besides, the obvious, of course.
The obvious is currently pressing against my thigh as he leans into me, flattening us both down on the sofa until my head hangs over the armrest and his body completely surrounds me, cages me in, somehow. It shouldn't be physically possible. I'm wider than he is, but right now, I don't feel it.
His tongue plunders my mouth with the confidence of a man who knows he's getting exactly what he wants tonight, and that probably shouldn't be as sexy as it is. But holy shit, I'm turned on. Everything about him turns me on, and I'm starting to question my whole history with Adrian, if maybe a good portion of my constant annoyance is just pure horniness.
With an effort, he pulls away, and I realize I've clamped my thighs around him so he barely move. Also, my arms are clasped around his back very tightly. Also, I might have been sucking on his tongue a little.
Or - a lot.
"Good god, woman," he pants, swiping his sleeve across his mouth. "I know I'm good, but can't you go a week without my dick and not end up a crazed sex fiend?"
Yeah, no. He's definitely legitimately annoying.
And I definitely legitimately don't care right now.
"Let's make a concerted effort to never find out," I suggest, grabbing his face and pulling it back to mine.
He chuckles against my mouth. "One or two visits to your place before a big business trip are easily explained away," he murmurs. "After a while, though, people are going to talk."
My heart sinks. This is it. This is the conversation I thought we'd be having when we got back, just not in this context. Not right now. Please, not right now. I want to beg him to shut up, but instead, I just say: "No one's gonna notice, you egomaniac."
Swiftly, he pins my wrists down, growling, "call me names again when we're in bed together. I dare you."
"We're not in bed," I point out, innocently.
"All right, that's it." He jumps to his feet, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him. "Which direction's the bedroom?"
"The only direction there is in here," I grouse. "Other than outside."
Adrian yanks me to him and swats me once, firmly, on my backside. "Stop it. What's put you in this mood, all of sudden?"
"You were about to tell me all the reasons why we can't keep doing this," I tell him, before I have a chance to rethink my honesty. "I don't really want to hear that. I don't want to think about it."
Laughing, he winds his arm around my waist and pulls me against him. "If you think I'm not going to find a way to keep fucking you, you couldn't be more wrong, kitten. I'm just saying we need to be careful. That's all."
Something unspools in my chest. "Oh."
"That's right." He gives me a dark look that makes my core clench. "Oh. Now get in there and bend over. I've half a mind to teach you a lesson with my belt."
My stomach flip-flops. I've thought about it, but I don't know if I'm ready for the intensity, the sting. I much prefer the way his hand feels. The intimacy of it.
Because, sure, getting intimate with Adrian Risinger is obviously a great long-term goal for me.