“You didn’t offer as much as force.” I turn my face to him and give him a small smile.
“True.” His lips mirror the curve of mine. “Where are you going?” He turns the key and the engine roars to life.
“I already said. Work.” I click my seatbelt into place, my eyes fixed on the dash as the GPS flickers to life and all the buttons light up. “What do these all do?”
“Drive modes, the radio… I don’t have a bloody clue about the rest. I bought the car because it’s nice, not because it has more buttons than a female body.”
I roll my eyes. Of course a totally innocent question would end up with a mention of a female body or something sexual.
I don’t reply, and the car fills with silence as we head toward White Stag. I’m too exhausted to be at work today, but the afternoon and early evening shift is easy. Five hours, and no rush until eight p.m., when everyone’s done having dinner. Perfect.
My phone rings and I dig it out from my purse. My agent’s name is glaring at me. “Hey.”
“Liv! I’m so glad I caught you before your shift. I have news.”
I shift. “Good or bad?”
“Good! I’m happy with your edited photos from your last shoot, and I’ve picked out my favorites for you to look over. Are you free on Monday? At two?”
I run over my shifts in my head. “Sure. I’m working at six then.”
“Perfect. I’ll pencil you in. It won’t take long. I’d like to get them finalized and sent off.” The shuffling of papers comes down the line. “And—oh! I have another shoot for you. What are you working over the next two weeks?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I can get the schedule before my shift starts today and let you know.”
“That’d be great. It’s not a huge shoot, but it’ll be big enough that it could open a few doors. So I’ll let you get to work and I’ll see you on Monday. We’ll discuss the shoot then, too.”
A smile stretches across my face. “See you Monday. Thanks, Sheila!”
I hang up and drop the phone back into my purse. I love it when she calls with good news.
“Good news?” Tyler asks, pulling into the parking lot of the bar.
“Yes!” I unclip my belt and shift in my seat to face him. “I’m looking over my photos from, um, our shoot on Monday, and she has another lined up for me.”
His lips curve at both sides, and he rests his arm on the top of the steering wheel. “They were incredible photos. I’m glad she insisted on picking her favorites because I never would have been able to.”
I study his face for any sign of teasing, and finding none, I feel my cheeks flush. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He reaches out and pushes some hair from my face. I smile and bend to grab my purse. “Liv?”
“Hmm?” I sit up straight.
His face moves toward mine before I can stop him, and the tantalizing brush of his lips against mine makes me freeze. His fingers, curved under my jaw, hold my face steady as he tastes every inch of my lips in a slow kiss that curls my insides.
I wrap my fingers around his neck as my body instinctively moves toward him despite the voice in my head telling me to stop. This is too gentle, too soft, too warm. But I can’t stop. He has the control and he’s exploring the curve of my mouth with a thousand deep kisses and light nibbles.
I drop my hand as he pulls away, breaking the contact, and look at him, dazed. He brushes his thumb over my cheek.
“You’ll be late for work.”
Work. Right. Yep.
I turn away from him and open my door, pausing for a moment to say, “Thanks for the ride,” before I get out and slam it behind me.
But I still hear his, “You’re welcome,” reply as I run across the parking lot in the pouring rain.
I duck inside the back door and peer through to the bar. My lips feel swollen and achy from that kiss, and a hundred feelings are swirling throughout my body. Ones I don’t want to feel. Ones I have no place feeling.
Ones that are fucking dangerous for me to feel.
My gaze sweeps across the bar, and for the first time in my life, I’m glad to see Old Dill with an empty pint glass.
I think my vibrator is broken.
It must be. I’m not willing to admit the alternative—that my orgasm is maybe a little broken.
At least I have my orgasm, I rationalize while pouring a cup of coffee. It’s lackluster and the spark seems to have disappeared somewhat, but it’s there. It’s enough to get rid of the sexual frustration.
Of course, I know how to fix it. All I have to do is think about a certain British man and wheeee! There she is. But that is not a smart move.