kiss the irresistible woman next to me?”
I considered the question. “I guess it’s because I grew up as one of those weird, homeschooled sisters named after the herbs. I was always hyperconscious of what people in town thought of us,” I said.
“You’re not a little girl anymore, Rosemary. Don’t worry about what people think of you. It’s none of your business.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that it was easy enough to be so cavalier when you were the only son of a Hollywood power broker. Instead, I “hmmed” noncommittally.
He pulled into the fifteen-minute loading zone spot in front of my building, turned on his hazards, and killed the engine. “I’ll walk you up.”
I let myself out slowly, trying to think of a way to invite him in that didn’t sound slutty.
Don’t worry so much about what people think of you, I chided myself.
I waited on the sidewalk until he joined me beside the car. He immediately reached for my hand. “I had a great time,” he said.
“Me, too.” I swallowed and tried to work up some saliva in my suddenly dry throat. “Do you want to come up for a drink?” I said in what was supposed to be a casual tone. It sounded strained to me.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall beside the intercom. He pulled me toward him. “I would love to come up—and not for a drink.”
He kissed me hungrily, and my lips parted. His tongue darted into my mouth, exploring and probing. I pressed against him and made a noise that sounded embarrassingly like a kitten being strangled. When I could breathe, I rested my palms on his chest and looked up at him, about to reiterate the invitation was for a drink only.
“Then I think you’d better not come up.”
Disappointment warred with longing in his eyes. I started to step away.
Felix grabbed my waist and held me still. “Don’t do that. I like you, Rosemary. I like you a lot.”
“And?” I breathed.
“And right now, I want you.” His voice was a growl.
I felt my heart beating in my throat. “But?” I whispered.
“But I’m going to want you tomorrow and the day after that. And the day after that. So I’m going to kiss you good night like a gentleman and ask you to see me again.” His eyes grew dark and heavy-lidded.
“You’ll see me at your house. I work there, remember?”
“I mean after work.”
“Another proper date?” I said, my mouth curving into a smile.
“Exactly.”
“Okay.”
“Great. Think about what you want to do for our next date. Now about that good night kiss …” He trailed off and tangled his fingers in my hair, kissing my lips, my neck, the base of my throat.
“Very gentlemanly,” I managed.
His tongue danced across the skin of my bare shoulder and I shivered. He lifted my hand and kissed it then bowed in an exaggerated gesture. He left me laughing on the front stairs to my apartment building. I sagged against the wall, grinning like an absolute idiot, and watched him walk back to his car. Then I pressed a hand to my tender, bruised lips and floated into the building and up the stairs to call Sage and squeal at her about my date.
12
W e fell into a pattern . I’d go to the Patrick mansion every morning, just like I used to when Amber was alive. But instead of juicing beets and assembling micro-green salads, I sourced local meats and fish for Pat, Antonio, and Felix. Although being freed from Amber’s dietary restrictions allowed me to unleash my creativity in the kitchen, cooking for Pat was awkward. He posted bond (of course—I mean, I can’t imagine how many zeroes the number would have to have to be out of his reach) but didn’t return to the house. He was staying with Antonio just down the road. According to his statements to the press, the two were relieved and overjoyed that they could finally go public with their relationship, even though the news had cost Antonio his body spray contract. I suspected the real reason they were shacking
I considered the question. “I guess it’s because I grew up as one of those weird, homeschooled sisters named after the herbs. I was always hyperconscious of what people in town thought of us,” I said.
“You’re not a little girl anymore, Rosemary. Don’t worry about what people think of you. It’s none of your business.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that it was easy enough to be so cavalier when you were the only son of a Hollywood power broker. Instead, I “hmmed” noncommittally.
He pulled into the fifteen-minute loading zone spot in front of my building, turned on his hazards, and killed the engine. “I’ll walk you up.”
I let myself out slowly, trying to think of a way to invite him in that didn’t sound slutty.
Don’t worry so much about what people think of you, I chided myself.
I waited on the sidewalk until he joined me beside the car. He immediately reached for my hand. “I had a great time,” he said.
“Me, too.” I swallowed and tried to work up some saliva in my suddenly dry throat. “Do you want to come up for a drink?” I said in what was supposed to be a casual tone. It sounded strained to me.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall beside the intercom. He pulled me toward him. “I would love to come up—and not for a drink.”
He kissed me hungrily, and my lips parted. His tongue darted into my mouth, exploring and probing. I pressed against him and made a noise that sounded embarrassingly like a kitten being strangled. When I could breathe, I rested my palms on his chest and looked up at him, about to reiterate the invitation was for a drink only.
“Then I think you’d better not come up.”
Disappointment warred with longing in his eyes. I started to step away.
Felix grabbed my waist and held me still. “Don’t do that. I like you, Rosemary. I like you a lot.”
“And?” I breathed.
“And right now, I want you.” His voice was a growl.
I felt my heart beating in my throat. “But?” I whispered.
“But I’m going to want you tomorrow and the day after that. And the day after that. So I’m going to kiss you good night like a gentleman and ask you to see me again.” His eyes grew dark and heavy-lidded.
“You’ll see me at your house. I work there, remember?”
“I mean after work.”
“Another proper date?” I said, my mouth curving into a smile.
“Exactly.”
“Okay.”
“Great. Think about what you want to do for our next date. Now about that good night kiss …” He trailed off and tangled his fingers in my hair, kissing my lips, my neck, the base of my throat.
“Very gentlemanly,” I managed.
His tongue danced across the skin of my bare shoulder and I shivered. He lifted my hand and kissed it then bowed in an exaggerated gesture. He left me laughing on the front stairs to my apartment building. I sagged against the wall, grinning like an absolute idiot, and watched him walk back to his car. Then I pressed a hand to my tender, bruised lips and floated into the building and up the stairs to call Sage and squeal at her about my date.
12
W e fell into a pattern . I’d go to the Patrick mansion every morning, just like I used to when Amber was alive. But instead of juicing beets and assembling micro-green salads, I sourced local meats and fish for Pat, Antonio, and Felix. Although being freed from Amber’s dietary restrictions allowed me to unleash my creativity in the kitchen, cooking for Pat was awkward. He posted bond (of course—I mean, I can’t imagine how many zeroes the number would have to have to be out of his reach) but didn’t return to the house. He was staying with Antonio just down the road. According to his statements to the press, the two were relieved and overjoyed that they could finally go public with their relationship, even though the news had cost Antonio his body spray contract. I suspected the real reason they were shacking
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