Wanted(87)

He pulled his hand away, grinning when I looked accusingly at him. “Patience is a virtue, Lina. And anticipation is one hell of an aphrodisiac.”

“Maybe,” I said sulkily. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t need an aphrodisiac with you.”

“That’s very good to know.” He stepped closer to me, then let his gaze rake over me. I tried not to react, but damn me, my breasts felt heavier, my nipples tighter. And when he let his gaze linger at the junction of my thighs, my cunt tightened in response to an unfulfilled demand—because the bastard really wasn’t touching me. “I should keep you perpetually like this,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “All hot and wet and wanting me.”

I swallowed, and I swear it was all I could do not to slide my own fingers down inside the damn bathing suit. “That’s how I always am,” I said, because he already knew it, and because there was no reason to hide anything from this man.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said. “Especially since I feel the same way. You make me burn, Lina.”

He brushed his fingertips over my shoulder, then trailed them lazily down my arm, making me shiver. And then, just as my eyes started to flutter shut, he pulled his hand away.

I blinked at him, wanting more, but he just shook his head. “I think that’s enough for now,” he said, his voice cocky.

“You’re an asshole, Evan Black. You know that, right?”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I’ve been called worse.” He gave me a gentle tug. “Come on. I should start dinner.”

“Maybe I should wait here. The lounge chair is pretty comfortable. I could finish what you started.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” He took my hand and tugged me close. “I want you frustrated, baby. No touching. Your cunt belongs to me. Your orgasm belongs to me. I want every ripple of pleasure that courses through your body to come from me. Do you understand?”

I nodded, feeling suddenly a little unstable, and not because of the rocking of the boat. And I had to admit that although I might be sexually frustrated at that moment, there was no denying that the promise in his words made it all worthwhile.

I grabbed a terry-cloth cover-up from the arm of a lounge chair and followed him to the kitchen, though he wasted no time telling me that it was called a galley. True to his word, there was brie, and he set it out along with a selection of crackers and fruit that we nibbled on as he went about making dinner, cutting the ends off the green beans, testing the potatoes in the oven, seasoning the steaks.

I watched him in silence, sipping wine and wondering about all the facets of Evan Black, both seen and unseen.

I wanted to know everything, and before I could talk myself out of it, I asked the question that was most on my mind. “Evan,” I said. “Why do you say you’re not a safe bet?”

He looked up from where he was uncorking a bottle of wine. “There are a lot of reasons,” he said, and I heard the hint of caution in his voice.

“I’d like to know.”

“Are you giving up on the idea of going to Washington?”

“What?” I shook my head, confused. “No. Why would you think so?”

He held my eyes for a long moment, and though I tried to figure out what he was thinking, I found no clue in his expression. “Never mind,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

I took the glass of wine he handed me, then took a sip. I considered dropping the whole thing. He was right, after all. I wasn’t staying. In three weeks, I’d be gone. So what did it matter if I never dug beneath that tarnish to see the man hidden inside?

Except it did matter. I wasn’t entirely sure why, but it mattered a lot.

“Is it because of the kind of business you’re in?”

“You mean the strip club?”

“I mean whatever you do that makes you not a safe bet.”

He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his own wine, his eyes never leaving my face. “I think I know a certain FBI agent who’s been putting ideas into your head.”

I licked my lips, suddenly unsure that I should have opened this door. “Listen, never mind. I don’t want to spoil dinner.”

“I haven’t even put the steaks on yet. We have time.” He put his wineglass down and crossed the galley so that he was opposite me across the bar. “What did Kevin say?”

I considered avoiding the question, but knew Evan well enough to know that he’d press. “He said that the FBI was watching you. That you’re into all sorts of shit. He wasn’t specific.”

“And you believe him.” There was no emotion in his voice. No anger. No nothing. Just a question, spoken in a monotone.