him.
"No," I say. "I have no social life."
Smooth, girl. That will make him realize how super cool I really am...
He doesn't grant me with any kind of reaction, but just gently skims my arm with the tip of his fingers.
It hasn't been long since I climaxed beneath him, with my hands and feet tied to the bedposts. Yet, this sensual brush makes me quiver with yearning for him.
"You must be hungry," he assumes.
I really am. We didn't have any breakfast by choice, but by now my stomach was growling with hunger.
"A little," I whisper, trying to sound like a lady.
"You know I hate it when you're lying," he warns me.
"Okay," I say. "I am starving!"
"That's a good girl," he praises, planting a loving kiss on my forehead. A girlish smirk appears on my face as he does it.
"I would like to take you out for lunch," he declares. "But given the situation, that would not be a smart move."
"Are you being followed at all times?" I ask.
It is meant to be a joke, because, of course, he isn't. He is just being super cautious, for my sake just as well as his own.
"More than usual at the moment, yes," he says. "After that reading last week and another few press appointments, people have been pestering me not only about my new novel but also about me mentioning my move here."
"You mentioned you grew up in this area?" I ask.
"Yes," he says, sounding angry. "And that is exactly the kind of question I don't want to hear right now."
"Sorry," I murmur.
He is really is particular when it comes to certain things. Anything that has to do with him. Anything personal, it seems.
"Would you mind having lunch with me? Here?" he asks. "I could order something for us. Anything you want."
I look up at him. "Are you sure?"
He smiles down at me.
I hadn't noticed before, but he is sporting the cutest bedhead right now. His edgy, dark hair is ruffled and fleeing from his head in all sorts of directions. He looks so different from the person he was on stage, or even the man who greeted me in the sunroom last night.
Both versions are endearing to me.
Even after this short time I can hardly remember the person I was just a little more than a week ago. The person who was dragged to a boring reading event by her best friend. The person who didn't care for this obscure Cedric Crow character that so many readers adore.
The person who still hasn't finished a single book by him. I feel almost ashamed about it now.
I am determined to change that. As soon as I get back home.
Whenever that will be.
"Of course, I am sure," he interrupts my stream of thought. "Why would I ask you if I wasn't."
"To be nice," I blurt out.
He raises his eyebrows. "Why would I be nice to you?"
"Um, I don't know-"
"To get you into bed?" he interrupts. "In case you haven't noticed, that already happened. So, please, just let me know what you are in the mood for."
I look at him quizzically.
"Food," he clarifies. "What would you like to eat?"
Pizza , my head yells. Oh, I am craving a giant, greasy pizza with cheese filled crust. The perfect after-sex food.
But not a very elegant lunch choice when you're with a classy billionaire writer in his fancy getaway penthouse.
"Um, maybe I should just go home," I murmur.
Pizza and sweatpants do sound quite enticing at the moment. And I could catch up on that Playstation date...
"Why?" He wants to know. "Didn't you just say that you're starving?"
I smirk up at him. "Yeah, but I can eat by myself. I have done it before, you know."
His eyes narrow as he looks back at me.
"You see, I am only going to be in town until tomorrow," he says. "I don't know when I will be back. But I would really like to spend as much time with you as possible while I am still here."
My eyes widen with disbelief.
"Why?" I gasp, sounding just as dumb as you would think of someone who is replying to sweet words with such a silly question.
He looks at me with a smug smile and traces along the skin above my boobs with the tip of his index
"No," I say. "I have no social life."
Smooth, girl. That will make him realize how super cool I really am...
He doesn't grant me with any kind of reaction, but just gently skims my arm with the tip of his fingers.
It hasn't been long since I climaxed beneath him, with my hands and feet tied to the bedposts. Yet, this sensual brush makes me quiver with yearning for him.
"You must be hungry," he assumes.
I really am. We didn't have any breakfast by choice, but by now my stomach was growling with hunger.
"A little," I whisper, trying to sound like a lady.
"You know I hate it when you're lying," he warns me.
"Okay," I say. "I am starving!"
"That's a good girl," he praises, planting a loving kiss on my forehead. A girlish smirk appears on my face as he does it.
"I would like to take you out for lunch," he declares. "But given the situation, that would not be a smart move."
"Are you being followed at all times?" I ask.
It is meant to be a joke, because, of course, he isn't. He is just being super cautious, for my sake just as well as his own.
"More than usual at the moment, yes," he says. "After that reading last week and another few press appointments, people have been pestering me not only about my new novel but also about me mentioning my move here."
"You mentioned you grew up in this area?" I ask.
"Yes," he says, sounding angry. "And that is exactly the kind of question I don't want to hear right now."
"Sorry," I murmur.
He is really is particular when it comes to certain things. Anything that has to do with him. Anything personal, it seems.
"Would you mind having lunch with me? Here?" he asks. "I could order something for us. Anything you want."
I look up at him. "Are you sure?"
He smiles down at me.
I hadn't noticed before, but he is sporting the cutest bedhead right now. His edgy, dark hair is ruffled and fleeing from his head in all sorts of directions. He looks so different from the person he was on stage, or even the man who greeted me in the sunroom last night.
Both versions are endearing to me.
Even after this short time I can hardly remember the person I was just a little more than a week ago. The person who was dragged to a boring reading event by her best friend. The person who didn't care for this obscure Cedric Crow character that so many readers adore.
The person who still hasn't finished a single book by him. I feel almost ashamed about it now.
I am determined to change that. As soon as I get back home.
Whenever that will be.
"Of course, I am sure," he interrupts my stream of thought. "Why would I ask you if I wasn't."
"To be nice," I blurt out.
He raises his eyebrows. "Why would I be nice to you?"
"Um, I don't know-"
"To get you into bed?" he interrupts. "In case you haven't noticed, that already happened. So, please, just let me know what you are in the mood for."
I look at him quizzically.
"Food," he clarifies. "What would you like to eat?"
Pizza , my head yells. Oh, I am craving a giant, greasy pizza with cheese filled crust. The perfect after-sex food.
But not a very elegant lunch choice when you're with a classy billionaire writer in his fancy getaway penthouse.
"Um, maybe I should just go home," I murmur.
Pizza and sweatpants do sound quite enticing at the moment. And I could catch up on that Playstation date...
"Why?" He wants to know. "Didn't you just say that you're starving?"
I smirk up at him. "Yeah, but I can eat by myself. I have done it before, you know."
His eyes narrow as he looks back at me.
"You see, I am only going to be in town until tomorrow," he says. "I don't know when I will be back. But I would really like to spend as much time with you as possible while I am still here."
My eyes widen with disbelief.
"Why?" I gasp, sounding just as dumb as you would think of someone who is replying to sweet words with such a silly question.
He looks at me with a smug smile and traces along the skin above my boobs with the tip of his index
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