Exposure

by Ember Dante

  Tyler propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin against the heel of his hand. Mischief was alive and well in his light hazel eyes. “Pray tell, how do you know that?”

  “How do you think?” I rolled my eyes at the absurdity of his question. “I do my research.”

  “Mm-hmm. I just bet you do.” He smirked.

  “It’s not that bad.” Becky shrugged before taking another sip of her cosmo.

  The retort that was poised on my tongue evaporated, and I blinked several times in disbelief. Even Tyler was speechless for a change, and Madison continued to fidget with her hair. I guess her comfort level was at an all-time low with the direction our conversation had turned.

  “What? You know Robert was freaky.” Becky was the picture of innocence, complete with wide eyes and another flip of her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “We tried ... things.”

  Madison shook her head, an obvious attempt to banish the unwanted visual conjured by Becky’s comments before steering us back on track. “You really don’t know anything else about him? What does he look like?”

  My shoulders lifted in an apologetic shrug. “I only know his name, and that he has his own studio—Exposure. It’s on Noel Road, across from the Galleria.”

  “Girls, we’ve got something to celebrate.” Tyler slapped his fingers on the table. “Emmy Lou got her first feature! We need more drinks.”

  I laughed at the endearing nickname he’d given me and smoothed my dress after I slid from my chair. “Go ahead and order another round. I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

  Becky framed her mouth with both hands and raised her voice to be heard as I walked away. “Don’t do anyone I wouldn’t do.”

  “Who wouldn’t you do?” barked Tyler.

  Shaking my head, I walked away, followed by their laughter over Tyler’s snappy comeback until the sound was swallowed by the ambient noise of the club.

  The large space was almost wall-to-wall people, making the walk to the restrooms all but impossible. I pushed past a large group and was sent crashing into a warm, immovable object. Struggling to stay upright, I shuffled my feet in an awkward version of a two-step and managed to stomp on what felt like someone’s foot. A brief vision of me landing on my ass played through my mind, and I shifted again to prevent toppling over and embarrassing myself.

  “Shit,” I muttered, swaying as the crowd moved around me.

  “Are you okay?’

  The voice was strong and deep, and smooth as caramel—a perfect baritone that sent a ripple of awareness through me, setting off an avalanche of sensations that formed a puddle of heat in my core. My gaze lifted, searching for the source, and encountered a pair of cornflower blue eyes framed with dark lashes and straight brows. Everything faded away when our eyes met, and all I could focus on was the man standing before me. I tried to look away, but couldn’t. It was like being in a vacuum, the way it’s typically portrayed in movies, the absence of movement and sound. I’d had girlfriends describe something similar when they’d met someone they really connected with, but I never believed it. It was a first for me, feeling such an immediate—and intense—attraction to a man. I was with Brett for three years, and he never affected me that way. Not once.

  Mr. Perfect arched a brow, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “Did you hear me? Are you okay?”

  My mouth opened and closed several times, making me feel like a fish out of water, before I finally found my voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about your foot. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

  His smile widened, giving me a glimpse of perfectly straight, white teeth—one of my hot buttons. “No harm done. I’ve got a spare.”

  I chuckled and took a small step backward to gain some perspective, and that’s when I realized his hands were wrapped around my biceps. Warmth flooded my cheeks, a combination of desire and embarrassment.

  My gaze traveled over his face, and without a doubt, the man was breathtaking. He couldn’t have been more perfect if he were carved by Michelangelo himself. Strong brow, Grecian nose, sculpted lips, and a square jaw covered with a layer of stubble that also dusted the upper part of his throat. There was even the requisite cleft in his chin. Wavy brown, slightly tousled hair framed his face, hitting just at the top of his ears. It looked silky to the touch and effortless, as if he’d woken up that way. The desire to find out, to run my fingers through the curly strands and press my finger to the cleft in his chin, was overwhelming. My hands rose on their own, demanding to know how he would feel beneath them. Resisting the urge, I clenched them into tight fists, halting their progress.

  I tried to say something witty and charming but only drew a blank. Unlike Becky, I sucked at flirting and usually said something stupid. Clearing my throat, I pulled away from him and jerked my thumb in the direction of the ladies’ room. “Well, sorry again. If you’ll excuse me, I need to…”

  “Sure. Sorry. Have a good evening.”

  A wicked grin spread across his face as he released me and reached for his beer without breaking eye contact. I watched his throat work, enthralled by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed. Why was that so damn sexy? The temptation to touch him returned and I had to force myself to look away.

  Flustered, I mumbled another quick apology and rushed to the bathroom. I resisted the urge to look back, terrified that he either would or would not be watching me.

  I wasn’t sure which would bother me the most.

  When I exited the bathroom, there was no sign of Mr. Perfect. After the spectacle I’d made of myself, I was relieved—but also somewhat disappointed. I would have enjoyed having another look at him, preferably when I could see the entire package. I returned to the table in time for the tail end of Tyler’s latest monologue, and the girls were crowing with laughter. I wasn’t surprised. He was a gifted storyteller.

  “What took you so long? We were about to send a search party,” giggled Madison, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Oh, somebody backed into me and shoved me into this hot guy standing at the bar.” Three heads jerked toward me, all their attention suddenly on me. “At least, what I saw was hot. I only got a good look at his face. I think I stepped on his foot.”

  “What hot guy? Where is he? What did he look like?” Becky rattled, straining to get a view of the bar.

  “Calm down, love, take a breath. Give the girl a chance to answer.” Tyler whipped his head in my direction. “Do you think he’s gay?”

  “I don’t know, Ty.” I laughed. “We didn’t have a very lengthy conversation. I didn’t see him when I came out of the bathroom, but he was standing at the end of the bar. Come to think of it, he kind of looks like Henry Cavill.”

  “Really?” He was practically salivating. “Tudors Henry Cavill, or Superman Henry Cavill?”

  “Honestly, probably closer to Cold Light of Day.”

  “That’s still impressive,” he murmured, sagging against the back of his chair.

  “So what did he do? After you ran into him, I mean,” asked Madison.

  “Nothing. He just asked if I was okay.” I felt heat rise up my neck as I told them about our brief encounter.

  Madison picked up her drink. “What’s his name?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t ask.” I shrugged. “I was embarrassed about stepping on his foot. Not to mention the fact I wanted to climb him like a tree.”

  “You should go find him and ask if he’ll help you practice swallowing,” chuckled Tyler.

  I tilted my head to the side and gave him a caustic look, trying to convince both of us that I was irritated with him. It wasn’t working. He opened his mouth to no doubt impart more of his sarcastic wit when our waitress walked up carrying another round.

  “These are from the gentleman at the bar,” she said.

  Becky and Madison turned, straining to get a look. “What gentleman?” they asked in unison.

  She placed the drinks on our table before pointing at the opposite end of the bar from where I
’d stumbled into Mr. Perfect. He was standing in the shadows, but it had to be him. The memory of his touch set my soul aflame, and although I couldn’t see his eyes from that distance, I remembered them well.

  “Is that him, dollface?” asked Tyler.

  “Yeah, that’s him.” I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance.

  Tyler smirked, twisting his delicate lips, silently telling me I failed. He raised his glass for a sip while the girls tried to get a look at Mr. Perfect.

  “You know he’s probably going to come over here, right? That’s usually what happens when a man sends drinks to a table.” He tipped his glass toward me. “It’s obvious you made quite an impression.”

  My gaze drifted back to the bar, and as if on cue, Mr. Perfect stepped out of the shadows. Our eyes locked as he walked toward our table. Correction—it was more like stalking. He moved with an easy, cat-like grace that could only be described as predatory. I had to admit, I wouldn’t mind being his prey.

  Tyler leaned closer and whispered, “You're right. He does look like Henry Cavill. He’s fucking hot.”

  I nodded, lifting my drink. It was suddenly too damn hot, and I needed to cool down. It was my first chance to check out the rest of him, and just as I’d suspected, I wasn’t disappointed. He was at least six feet tall, probably an inch or two above that, with a strong, athletic build. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to his elbows, exposing the muscles in his forearms, his right arm taut from the weight of the beer bottle in his hand. Dark wash jeans hung low on his hips, and even in the dim lighting, I could see his quadriceps flex with each step. Simply put, the moniker ‘Mr. Perfect’ was spot on. I shook my head to rid myself of the increasingly erotic thoughts evoked by watching his approach.

  “Holy fuck. I'm going home with that,” Becky claimed with another flip of her hair.

  “Honey, I think he’s got eyes for someone else,” whispered Madison.

  Becky began her primping ritual as if Madison hadn’t spoken. She fluffed her hair, popped a mint in her mouth, and adjusted her bra for maximum lift. I’d be the first to admit she was beautiful, sultry even, and it surprised me that the approaching god hadn’t glanced once in her direction. A swift nudge from Tyler refocused my attention, and I turned my head as Mr. Perfect stopped before me and leaned on the table, an amused smile on his face. I tried to speak, but no sound would come out. It seemed to be a trend.

  “I wanted to come over and properly introduce myself,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Ian.”

  Although I was mesmerized by his blue eyes, it didn’t take long for my manners to take over and I slipped my hand into his. I didn’t recognize the harsh whisper my voice had become.

  “Hi. I’m Emmy.”

  Rather than shaking my hand, his thumb slowly caressed me from knuckles to fingertips, while his fingers moved idly against my palm. My senses were on high alert, and I couldn’t breathe as my heart beat a staccato rhythm behind my ribs.

  “Hi, Emmy. Who are your friends?”

  “This is Tyler, and the one making googly eyes at you is Becky.” I nodded toward my other companion. “That’s Madison.”

  Ian turned his head to greet them. “Nice to meet you all.”

  Becky leaned forward, giving Ian an unobstructed view of the perky assets inside her shirt. She just didn’t give up. “Thank you for the drinks, Ian. It was very kind.”

  To his credit, he maintained eye contact with her. “My pleasure.” He turned back toward me. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Oh, please. Have a seat,” blurted Becky.

  I rolled my eyes at her outburst. Her act was beginning to get old. Ian raised an eyebrow, waiting for my nod before sitting in the only remaining chair.

  Tyler didn’t hesitate to be himself. “So, Ian, what’s your opinion on spitting versus swallowing?”

  Embarrassed, I lowered my head, dropping my chin to my chest and shielding my eyes with my free hand. “Please don’t humor him.”

  Ian winked. “Swallow.”

  The entire table erupted in laughter. He was going to fit right in.

  Few things were more hedonistic than hot, sweaty bodies writhing to ‘80s dance tunes on a packed dance floor. If forced to make a list, dirty dancing with Ian would definitely make the cut. Unlike most men, he wasn’t shy about dancing. In fact, he was quite good at it. It amazed me how well our bodies fit together, even with our height difference, like we were made for each other. During our short time together, he showered me with attention, his constant touches igniting my libido to the point I felt I would spontaneously combust. Honestly, there could be worse ways to go.

  The song ended, and Ian laced our fingers together as we returned to a nearly deserted table. I caught a glimpse of Becky walking toward the exit, arm-in-arm with some guy she was dancing with earlier. That wasn’t a surprise. Madison left some time ago, alone. That wasn’t a surprise, either.

  “Woo-hoo, that’s Avery. Looks like my balls are getting some love tonight,” exclaimed Tyler, checking his text messages.

  Ian raised a brow, and I shook my head. “Don’t ask. You really don’t want to know.”

  “Good night, dollface,” laughed Tyler. “Ian, it was nice meeting you. Be good to my Emmy Lou.”

  “Oh, I have every intention of being good to Emmy Lou,” said Ian, refocusing his attention on me after Tyler’s departure. “Would you like another drink? It’s almost last call.”

  It was the one time I had ever wished I could be more like Becky and act on my impulses rather than merely thinking about them. The best I could do was force myself to respond. “Please. And a glass of water.”

  Our server was clearing the next table, and Ian motioned for another round. “A glass of water, too, please,” he added.

  Once we were alone—or as alone as we could be—Ian swiveled toward me and parted his legs on either side of my chair, allowing him to draw me closer. Even though we had been inseparable since the moment he officially introduced himself, I found the new proximity unnerving and the sound of my heartbeat filled my ears, a constant swoosh of blood so loud I was certain he could hear it as well. He reached up and tucked a swatch of hair behind my ear, a simple gesture that sent shivers down my spine and made me hyper-aware of his legs pressed against me. His gaze held mine as he leaned closer and the clean scent of his cologne—masculine and woodsy, with a hint of citrus—wafted toward me. I knew what was coming, or thought I did, and I averted my eyes rather than acknowledge the look on his face that said he wanted to devour me. Truth be told, I wanted to devour him, too, but I was petrified. It had been too long since I’d felt that way about a man.

  Apparently, he wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily. With a gentle touch, he gripped my chin, the slight pressure forcing my eyes back to his. Cocking his head to one side, he lifted a brow in a silent request for permission. I wanted him, he knew it, and all I could do was nod my assent. His lips were firm yet soft, and he lingered just long enough to make me wonder if that was it. It wasn’t. He pulled away and swept his tongue across my lower lip before plucking it between his teeth for a gentle nibble, then soothed the bite with another sweep of his tongue. The bitter taste of beer mixed with a touch of cinnamon coated his tongue and awakened every synapse in my body when he demanded entrance, finally taking my mouth. My lips responded of their own accord, and I heard a low, almost animal sound echo in my throat. Hands down, it was the best first kiss I’d ever had.

  Ian pulled away, cradling my face in his hands as he rested his forehead against mine.

  “Wow,” I breathed. My tongue flicked across my lips, savoring his taste. I opened my eyes and saw a small, almost bashful smile on his face.

  “Yeah. Wow. I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

  My senses hummed at the return of our server, and we moved apart. Embarrassed, I fidgeted and ran a hand through my hair.

  “I’ll take care of this whenever you’re ready,” she said, handing him a small tray after setting the
drinks on the table.

  “Sure. Here you go,” he replied, passing her his credit card.

  Still maintaining eye contact, he picked up his beer and took a long drink. My hands twitched in my lap, desperate to feel the movement of his throat. Watching him do something as mundane as drinking a beer stirred something deep inside me. It was ridiculous, like a schoolgirl crush.

  “Ian…” I protested, but it sounded weak, even to my ears. He shook his head—a sure indication not to argue. “Thank you,” was all I could say before taking a sip of my own drink.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He set the bottle on the table and gathered my hands in his, further rattling my already shaky control. His expression was serene yet expectant, probably waiting for me to say something.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” I blurted.

  “Do what?”

  “I’m not in the habit of picking up men and leaving with them,” I sighed. “My friend, Becky, that’s her M.O. You saw how she was tonight. She left with some guy she’d known all of an hour. She does that all the time.” I took a deep breath to keep from rambling. Ian didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply stroked my hands, waiting for me to continue. “I guess I’m just trying to say…” I paused for another breath. “Hell, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. You probably think I’m crazy.”

  “No, Emmy, I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re beautiful.” He wove his fingers through my hair and pulled me close for another kiss. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to go home, I’ll escort you to your car and kiss you goodnight.” Leaning closer, he brought his mouth to my ear. “But I’m not going to lie, Emmy. I want you.”

  “I don’t want to leave—at least, not alone.”

  He gave me a panty-melting grin and signed the receipt left behind by the waitress. I slid from my perch, my hand in his, and we walked into the pleasant May evening. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair, making me shiver at the sudden change in temperature. Ian caressed my cheek, his hand sliding across my face as he tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear.