it was for the wrong thing. “I didn’t think we’d be… This wasn’t planned.”
She shrugged and looked away again. “I’m on the Pill.”
Simon gritted his teeth. How had things gone from rosy and simple to complicated and cringe-worthy in the space of five minutes? He’d thought he’d known what he was doing and how he felt. They were two adults. Doing a job that happened to involve an intimate cover story. So? They’d fucked. They’d done it before. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t felt good for both of them. What was the big deal?
He blew out a breath and banged his head once against the headrest. By the time they reached The Chocolate Bar, a strained silence stretched his nerves and he couldn’t get out of the cab fast enough. Leaving Alex to pay the cabbie, he examined some gilded volumes in a bookstore window.
Why did sex always seem like such a good idea at the time and so bad after it was over? He longed for the days of high-school fumbling and frat-house fucks. When everyone was either too smashed or too high to remember what happened the morning after. The problem was he’d never been drunk enough to forget Alexandra, and no drug could ever take him as high as she had each and every time she’d been in his arms. She was his poison and his love potion. A potent combination of sexy and strong, sweet and sinful he’d have to be crazy to want to forget, but out of his mind with addiction to consider indulging in again.
Chapter Six
Alex stirred her frozen hot chocolate and stared out the window. Sitting on a modern white stool next to Simon, ensconced near shelves and more shelves of chocolate confections, she slowly returned to emotional equilibrium. Thighs still tingling, her sex still pleasantly aching, she shifted every so often to produce a thrill of sensation through her clit and up her spine. Though the circumstances hadn’t been ideal, the act itself had been amazing—a moment of abandon and excitement she’d never forget.
Simon slurped the last dregs of chocolate from the bottom of his cup. “Better?”
She nodded. There wasn’t much chocolate couldn’t cure and he was a wise enough man to know it. “Had you ever been to the MoMA before?”
Fingering a piece of toffee in the bag they’d purchased, he lifted the candy to his lips and sucked off the chocolate coating. “Yeah. I used to go a lot.”
“What’s your favorite painting?” She took a piece of toffee and scraped off the hazelnuts with her fingernail, leaving them in a pile he scooped up and ate.
“Matisse’s Dance .”
She nodded. “It has a lot of energy.”
“Life.” He spoke around the candy he now crunched. “Spirit and life.”
“Mhm. Life.”
“And sex. It’s obviously a maypole dance.”
The word sex made her blush as if she were a virgin and he’d just deflowered her in his parents’ musty basement rec room.
“What bothered you about it? About us?” Simon asked, waving one hand suggestively. “You seemed to want it last night. And today.”
Shoving the entire piece of toffee in her mouth, Alex used the need to chew as an excuse not to answer right away. What bothered her? Other than the idea she couldn’t seem to get enough of a man whose criminal history forever separated them? That as he pounded inside her she couldn’t think of anything in her life she wanted more than to have him with her always? Or was it a loss of control so complete that it overshadowed her career, her life and everything she’d worked for since she turned sixteen years old? How could she possibly tell him all that and expect him to understand?
“The dancers…maypoles…they’re too wild. Too unpredictable. They lack finesse and control.” She refocused the conversation on the painting and contemplated the crumbs on the counter. “I prefer the Monet.”
Simon laughed. “Are you comparing my performance to a Matisse?”
“Not at all.” She drew herself upright on the stool. “The Monet is quiet and
She shrugged and looked away again. “I’m on the Pill.”
Simon gritted his teeth. How had things gone from rosy and simple to complicated and cringe-worthy in the space of five minutes? He’d thought he’d known what he was doing and how he felt. They were two adults. Doing a job that happened to involve an intimate cover story. So? They’d fucked. They’d done it before. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t felt good for both of them. What was the big deal?
He blew out a breath and banged his head once against the headrest. By the time they reached The Chocolate Bar, a strained silence stretched his nerves and he couldn’t get out of the cab fast enough. Leaving Alex to pay the cabbie, he examined some gilded volumes in a bookstore window.
Why did sex always seem like such a good idea at the time and so bad after it was over? He longed for the days of high-school fumbling and frat-house fucks. When everyone was either too smashed or too high to remember what happened the morning after. The problem was he’d never been drunk enough to forget Alexandra, and no drug could ever take him as high as she had each and every time she’d been in his arms. She was his poison and his love potion. A potent combination of sexy and strong, sweet and sinful he’d have to be crazy to want to forget, but out of his mind with addiction to consider indulging in again.
Chapter Six
Alex stirred her frozen hot chocolate and stared out the window. Sitting on a modern white stool next to Simon, ensconced near shelves and more shelves of chocolate confections, she slowly returned to emotional equilibrium. Thighs still tingling, her sex still pleasantly aching, she shifted every so often to produce a thrill of sensation through her clit and up her spine. Though the circumstances hadn’t been ideal, the act itself had been amazing—a moment of abandon and excitement she’d never forget.
Simon slurped the last dregs of chocolate from the bottom of his cup. “Better?”
She nodded. There wasn’t much chocolate couldn’t cure and he was a wise enough man to know it. “Had you ever been to the MoMA before?”
Fingering a piece of toffee in the bag they’d purchased, he lifted the candy to his lips and sucked off the chocolate coating. “Yeah. I used to go a lot.”
“What’s your favorite painting?” She took a piece of toffee and scraped off the hazelnuts with her fingernail, leaving them in a pile he scooped up and ate.
“Matisse’s Dance .”
She nodded. “It has a lot of energy.”
“Life.” He spoke around the candy he now crunched. “Spirit and life.”
“Mhm. Life.”
“And sex. It’s obviously a maypole dance.”
The word sex made her blush as if she were a virgin and he’d just deflowered her in his parents’ musty basement rec room.
“What bothered you about it? About us?” Simon asked, waving one hand suggestively. “You seemed to want it last night. And today.”
Shoving the entire piece of toffee in her mouth, Alex used the need to chew as an excuse not to answer right away. What bothered her? Other than the idea she couldn’t seem to get enough of a man whose criminal history forever separated them? That as he pounded inside her she couldn’t think of anything in her life she wanted more than to have him with her always? Or was it a loss of control so complete that it overshadowed her career, her life and everything she’d worked for since she turned sixteen years old? How could she possibly tell him all that and expect him to understand?
“The dancers…maypoles…they’re too wild. Too unpredictable. They lack finesse and control.” She refocused the conversation on the painting and contemplated the crumbs on the counter. “I prefer the Monet.”
Simon laughed. “Are you comparing my performance to a Matisse?”
“Not at all.” She drew herself upright on the stool. “The Monet is quiet and
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