Wicked Grind (Stark World #1)(79)

I expect him to finish what I started. To quell this need he's fired inside me.

I expect all that . . . but all he does is untie my hand. "I think we may have a good one among all those shots."

I frown, confused by both his words and by the fact that he's backed away to sit on the far side of the bed again. "Only one good one? I thought-"



       
         
       
        

"What?"

I swallow, blushing. "Just that I thought you were probably getting a lot of good shots."

"Definitely," he says, and there's so much heat and desire in his voice that I'm even more confused. "You were exceptional. But I meant good for the show. And for those, I'm incredibly picky."

I frown and he laughs. "Photography's a numbers game sometimes."

"Oh."

"Why don't you go get dressed?"

Disappointment cuts through me. "Um, okay. I'll change and head home." I'm feeling overly exposed, and confused enough that getting out of there seems like a good idea. "What time do you want me back tomorrow?"

"How about eight. If we're cramming the shoot into five days, I'm afraid they should be long ones."

"Okay. Sure." I stand awkwardly. "I'll just go change."

He reaches out to touch my arm as I start to walk to the bathroom. "It's a long drive to Valencia. Maybe you should stay."

I look at the bed. "Here?"

"I was thinking you could stay in my office. You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Oh." A fresh shock of disappointment cuts through me. Considering he'd demanded I remove my panties in the car, I'd been expecting something much different here. Maybe he was just trying to keep me comfortable during the shoot. But that's done, and if we're going to his bedroom . . .

To say I'm confused would be an understatement. Especially since I flat out told him I wanted to-as he put it-be bad.

So where on earth is the badness?

"Kelsey?"

"I guess," I say. And then, because it really is a long drive, I say, "Yeah. Actually, that would be great."

He tells me to grab a nightgown out of the bureau, which I do, then I follow him up the stairs. He's a perfect gentleman. Pulling out the Murphy bed. Making sure I'm comfortable. Telling me he'll be right on the other side of the room if I need anything.

And then he goes off to the couch, and I slide under the covers, and I lie there, absolutely unable to sleep. Because, seriously, what is going on here?

Finally, I can't take it anymore. "Wyatt?" I whisper to the dark. "Are you awake?"

"Do you need something?"

"Answers," I say.

"Answers?"

"You told me I had to do what you said in front of the camera and in your bed."

"And you did. You were great today."

I frown. "Yeah, but I thought-" I cut myself off. What am I supposed to say? That I thought he was going to touch me? That I thought he was going to take me to bed? I did think all that, but I'm not sure I want to admit it out loud. 

Except I want to know.

"I guess I thought you were going to touch me . . . more."

"Did you?" His words are casual, but I think I hear a thread of heat under them.

I consider turning on a light since I can't see his face, and on the one hand, that bothers me. But on the other, it gives me courage.

"Yeah," I admit. "And don't tell me I had the wrong impression. That's what you said from the beginning. So why didn't you?"

"A few reasons," he says. "For one, it was a dick move for me to insist on that in the first place. I was pissed at you, and it was stupid and manipulative. For that matter, it was probably a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"I won't sue," I say dryly, earning a laugh.

"Well, the biggest reason is that you didn't want me to."

I sit up in bed. "Wait. What? I never said that."

"You did," he insists. "In the car. You talked about what the women on my walls would want, and how you wanted to be like them. Well, tell me, Kelsey, would those women wait? I mean, if there was a man they wanted, would they hesitate at all?"

I'm silent.

"But I guess that's the real question," he continues. "Is there a man you want?"

My heart jumps a little in my chest. And when I answer, it's a whisper. "Actually, there might be."

"In that case," he says, "I think you should go after him."





25


I draw a deep breath, trying to quell my rising panic.

Go after him? I've never gone after a man in my life. Going after men was definitely not on my father's approved activity list. And while I may have deviated far away from the ridiculous parameters he set for me, that doesn't change the very basic fact that I have absolutely no experience whatsoever.