by Alisha Rai
He stared down at the floor and exhaled, as if he were facing a very difficult task, before looking up again. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Her jaded, skeptical, cynical heart fluttered. It fucking fluttered. She stopped herself shy of placing her hand over it and sighing.
Other men had told her the same thing, but never had the words held such a ring of sincerity and truth. “Oh.”
He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. “Oh?”
“Well, give me a minute.” Her words were calm, but her mind had started to churn. What did he mean, he couldn’t stop thinking about her? He couldn’t stop thinking about the sex?
Neither can I. Can we have it again, pretty please?
“I…may have thought about you during the last week,” she admitted.
“Your blinds have been closed.”
Because she’d had to keep them closed. The man still hadn’t bought window coverings, and she wasn’t about to risk seeing him and then crawling over on her belly and begging for more orgasms. She had her pride. Kind of.
She gave a jerky shrug. “I didn’t think it was appropriate. I might have been tempted to watch you.”
“I like it when you watch me.”
Her breath hitched, and she grew more breathless when he loomed closer and slowly drew his arm around her middle, as if he were afraid she would break or bolt. He turned, walking her backwards until she was pressed against the desk and he was pressed against her. “I can’t function, Rana. All I can see is you.”
There went her heart, fluttering a second time. “I— You want to sleep with me again?”
“Yes.”
She nodded, feeling like one of those silly bobblehead dolls. “I thought you weren’t looking for a relationship.”
His eyes cooled. “I’m not.”
Silly to feel disappointed. So this was nothing more than a need to scratch an itch that hadn’t gone away. One night hadn’t been enough, but maybe another night would be. “Oh.”
“I thought you weren’t, either.”
She wasn’t. You’re not.
She had to think, damn it. What would New Rana do?
She wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, moron, because she wouldn’t have gotten into her car and followed her hot neighbor and then tumbled into bed with him.
Look at him, standing in her family restaurant’s office, with his scruffy clothes and long hair and giant shoulders and tree-trunk thighs and that ass she hadn’t even gotten to explore, not really—
How many times do I have to tell you to focus, idiot?
He wasn’t the type of man she could bring home to her mama. And that was the only kind of man she could have now. So she couldn’t have him.
But if this was simply an affair, an extension of their one night together, what would it hurt? No one would find out. She could make it into like…a week-long binge instead of a secret nibble. Maybe a couple-weeks-long binge.
She was still wrestling with herself when he rested his hands on either side of her hips. “If you don’t want to sleep with me, at least model for me.”
She reared back. “What?”
“Model for me. I have to get you out of my system one way or another.”
She thought of that couch in his studio, the one she’d never seen a man or woman on. Then she thought about his paintings. “Um. Do you always do nudes?”
His lashes shielded his eyes and his thoughts from her. “Generally, yes.”
“So what you mean is you’ll get me naked one way or another,” she half-joked, but he didn’t smile. No surprise. Did he ever smile?
“I don’t need to hire models to look at naked women,” he said with so much arrogance she was tempted to punch him in the shoulder, but she couldn’t, because he was dead right, the jerk. He could fondle her boobs now, if he wanted to, and she would only be able to make excited squeaks. “I do actually want you to model for me.” He squinted, and suddenly that dark gaze was very far away, locked on something only he could see.
She was…flattered. Utterly and totally flattered. Hell, she had a good body and a decent face. This wasn’t the first man who had told her she should be a model. But she had seen the caliber of his work, and she knew he was the real deal.
This was art. The ultimate selfie. She’d be immortalized.
A thrill ran up her spine.
Oh, God. She’d been called shallow and vain before, and maybe she was those things, because the thought of him preserving her likeness on canvas sounded so fucking cool.
No, New Rana spoke up, concerned and oh so proper. That fun-killing whore. You mustn’t do this. Mama will murder you. Her family could find out. Hell, if he had another show in the community, the whole town could find out. That would be terrible for business. Her family had done well for themselves, but their livelihood depended on this place.
She swallowed, hating that she couldn’t just accept everything he had handed her and to hell with everyone else. Why did she have to think?
“I would work around your schedule,” he continued, blissfully unaware of how close she was to accepting his offer. Offers. Whatever. “I would prefer some of it to be during the day, so I can see you in daylight, but I would also not mind evening and nighttime sits.” He leaned in closer, his body brushing against hers. His arms were so damn big on either side of her. “I’m a professional. I’d be happy to give you references to past models.”
Was that code? Did he mean he wouldn’t leap on her upon viewing her naked body? As if she would want him to stay professional, if she did model for him. How was she supposed to sit with him nude, day after day, and not eventually climb him like a tree? Impossible, truly.
At her continued silence, his lips twisted. “You don’t believe me. I’m not always such an animal as I was that night. It had been…a while, for me.”
Oooh. “How long?”
He closed his eyes for a brief second. “A very long—”
The door opened without warning, and they both jumped, Micah taking a few steps away from her.
Leena raised an eyebrow at both of them, but the indulgent resignation in her face made Rana want to punch something. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the first time she’d been caught with a guy in this office, but it hadn’t happened in a while, now had it?
“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Leena stepped back, like she was going to leave. She was dressed in an elegant pantsuit, which meant her sister had probably come from overseeing a catering event or networking.
“That’s fine.” Micah inclined his head to Rana, avoiding her eyes. “I was just leaving.”
“You don’t have to go,” she blurted out, even though she wasn’t sure what she would say if he did stay. Yes, we can have sex? Yes, I’ll be your model? Yes, stand still and let me lick you please?
“It’s fine.” He nodded stiffly to them both and walked toward the door.
“I’ll come over—” She stopped. She couldn’t cancel on her date tonight, not when she’d already done it once, and not when the man was probably on his way to the bar. Even if she had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the kindly sales rep for shit.
Plus, maybe it would be good to have the night to think about all of this. Since she was trying not to be impulsive and all.
Thinking was the worst.
His step faltered. He cast a quick glance at her over a broad shoulder.
“Tomorrow?” she finished lamely.
His eyes shuttered, and he gave the barest dip of his head to acknowledge her.
Leena stepped aside to let him pass and continued watching him as he walked down the hall.
Rana folded her arms over her chest, this time to hide her puckered nipples from Leena. What the hell had she been thinking, wearing this bra and this shirt? Never again around Micah. These headlights were totally going to be the death of her.
Not that Leena would notice. She was leaning out the door.
> “Do you want my phone? You can take a picture.” Catty, perhaps, but she didn’t particularly care for the way her younger sister was straining her neck to catch a glimpse of her man.
Your man?
Shut up.
Leena snapped out of her trance and came inside the office, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes were big. “Oh my God. It took me a minute, but I just realized who that is.”
“You know him?”
Leena didn’t answer right away, but fanned her face. “Uh, yeah.”
“Right.” Rana cocked her hip. “How do you know him?”
“I keep up on the news.”
Rana tucked her chin to her chest. Figured Leena would know about the local art scene. Why can’t you be more polished like Leena? Men like a woman who’s cultured, not common.
Rana shoved her mother’s voice aside. “Oh.”
“I heard he had a show. I would have gone, but we had that gig across town.”
Rana tried not to scowl. What if Leena had gone to the show instead of Rana? Her little sister was beautiful, with her shiny, angled bob, her delicate features, and her ruthlessly maintained body. Combined with her sharp intelligence and innate classiness, she was probably a better match than Rana for any man.
Leena has a serious boyfriend. You need to stop.
It would help if Leena would quit looking so damn dreamy eyed. “I should have said something to him. Maybe gotten him to doodle on a napkin. Did he eat here? Oh my God. Maybe he did doodle on a napkin. What table was he at?”
Rana raised an eyebrow. “Hold up. We have linens, not napkins, and he didn’t eat here.”
Leena pursed her lips. “He…came to see you? Oh, wait. Wow. Was he tonight’s date?”
“What? No.” Even to her ears, her laugh sounded forced.
“Phew.” Leena shook her head. “I mean, he’s hot and all, but he’s probably not what you’re looking for.”
Right. Because there were men you fucked and men you fell in love with and married, and the two could never be the same. How many times had she heard that over the years? Rana, you’re not dating the right type of man.
“What was Micah Hale doing here then?”
Rana shrugged. “He’s my neighbor. He wanted to talk to me about some stuff. Related to…our houses.”
“He’s your neighbor? Huh.” Leena moved around the desk and dropped into the chair. It was huge and leather, one of the few pieces of furniture in the entire restaurant that remained from when their father had been running the show.
“Why’s that surprising?”
Leena cast her a dry look. “He’s probably rich. He could afford something more luxurious.”
Based on the price of the painting Rana had bought last week, she’d figured Micah did okay for himself. Rich, though? There was nothing about him that screamed rich. “Maybe he doesn’t need anything more luxurious.” Their houses were large for single individuals. She’d tried a condo, but found she hated shared walls. Rana needed space, for herself and all her clutter.
Leena made a disbelieving sound. She was the most frugal of all of them, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have champagne tastes. “I guess so. He’s unlikely to get recognized in your neighborhood, at least.”
She tried to imagine her elderly neighbors knowing about a British artist who painted naked people. “I think you’re overestimating how many people know anything about art.”
Leena stared at her. “Rana…I don’t know who he is because he’s an artist.”
“So how did you recognize him?”
“Wait, do you seriously not know?” Her sister shook her head. “It was all over the news a couple years ago. I think he was famous enough for even our media to care, though it happened in England.”
Rana didn’t watch the news. Well, entertainment news, yes, and she kept up on the big headlines, but she wasn’t a twenty-four-hour news junkie like Leena.
A strange sense of dread crept over Rana. She knew she wouldn’t like what Leena was going to say, but she couldn’t help asking, “What? What happened?”
“I don’t remember exactly.” Leena wrinkled her nose. “Just that some guy tried to murder him.”
Chapter 11
Rana had never been nervous about knocking on a door before.
She clenched her hand into a fist, apprehension making her stomach rock. He’s just a man. Not a dragon or a beast. You understand men. You adore men. Get this over with.
She rapped lightly. It was early, the dew on the grass still wet, the sun not quite hot yet. She shifted from one sandaled foot to the other, waiting. She was about to raise her hand and knock again when a scuffling came from behind the door. The peephole darkened, and she raised her chin, doing her best to look calm and collected, though she was anything but.
The lock disengaged, and the door hinges squealed as he opened it. Then he was standing in the narrow opening, frowning at her.
It wasn’t an angry frown. It was a perplexed frown.
She’d said she would come by this morning, hadn’t she? She would have even come by the night before after she’d made it home from her date, but his house had been dark.
Turns out, she hadn’t needed the night to think about his proposal. She’d only needed a few minutes into her date with the perfectly kind and acceptable sales rep to realize she wouldn’t be able to turn her attention to any other man until she dealt with the one occupying her brain.
So here she was. Ready to deal with him.
She pasted a smile on her face, hoping her makeup adequately covered the dark circles under her eyes. “Good morning.”
He watched her warily. “Good...morning,” he said more slowly.
“I brought you buns.”
His eyes dropped to the plate of cinnamon buns she thrust toward him. She’d iced them when they were still warm, so the gooey part was melting over the sides of rolls, pooling on the plate. They weren’t the prettiest things she’d ever made—Devi could whip up baked goods that looked like they belonged in magazines—but she knew they would taste like airy bites of heaven.
She’d considered making muffins as her own private joke, but that would have taken her too long.
“Buns.” His hand made a movement, as if to take the plate from her.
She yanked it back, keeping her smile on her mouth. Noooooo, sorry, sir. He wasn’t touching these buns ’til they got some things straight.
Double meaning intended. “Have you eaten yet? I thought we could have breakfast together.”
“Together?” He glanced over his shoulder.
She frowned, a sickening feeling spreading through her stomach. Was he…not alone?
He didn’t look like he was in the midst of an orgy. The dark jeans he wore rode low on his hips, his blue T-shirt threadbare. His hair was clubbed back messily in his usual stubby ponytail.
Then again, perhaps this was how he looked in the midst of an orgy. If he strolled up to her like this, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t orgy the fuck out of him.
“I’ve found that when people parrot words back at someone, it’s because they’re trying to hide something,” she informed him, trying and failing to control the bite in her voice. “You can tell me to hit the road, if you’re busy.”
His thick brows drew together. “I am parroting, as you put it, because I’m surprised to see you.”
“I told you I would be here today.”
His shrug was jerky. “You went on that date last night.”
Rana squinted at him. “I already canceled on the guy once. I couldn’t cancel on him again for another dude. I’m not a flake.”
“You didn’t come home that late last night.”
She raised her chin at his moody tone. Oh, she did not like that tone. Now she only wanted to orgy the fuck out of him a little. “What are you saying, that I should have come over the second I got home to answer your out-of-nowhere proposition? Okay, first of all, don’t track my comings and goings. That’s weird, and I thoug
ht we both decided not to do any more weird shit.”
“I can’t help hearing your vehicle,” he said, snooty as can be.
“Try,” she returned. “Secondly, what was I supposed to do, walk up to your house in the dark? Put your damn porch light on if you want someone to think you’re home.”
He frowned. “I don’t quite know if I have a porch light.”
“Then don’t bitch at me for not dropping everything and running over right away. Not when you were the one who changed all the rules to start with.” She took a deep breath and lifted the plate. “Now do you want my buns or not?”
His nod was brief but quick enough that some of her ire was appeased.
Still, he was slow to step aside. She walked past him, her arm tingling where it brushed against his chest.
For a second, as she came inside, she wondered if she was in the wrong house. Surely, this bland, beige house did not belong to the passionate artist standing behind her, right?
Like her home, his had an open floor plan, so she could see into his dining area to the left and the living room to her right. The family room was tucked away, but she was certain it was probably as boring as this.
Sure, his studio was all white and sterile. She had figured that was an artist…thing, though, like he wanted the white background.
Where was the art? The interesting colors? The bold statement furniture?
The bare walls were a standard off-white that was common to rental properties. There was no furniture at all in the dining room, and the living room held only a beat-up brown couch and a small television, which looked like he might have picked up from someone on craigslist.
Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen a moving truck pull up to the house with Micah’s belongings. His car had one day simply appeared, and that was that.
He had moved from another country. It took time to furnish a home. Or maybe he liked living like a college frat guy? Or perhaps he was terrible with money, and he frittered away those big checks from his art on hookers and blow.
Because what did she know about him, really? Not much. Not nearly enough for her to be here.
Too bad she was too entranced to stop herself.
