by Linnea May
"So, what should I call you?"
"I haven't decided yet," I blatantly reply.
He seems to like that answer. His smile widens. And it looks freaking handsome.
"So, Evan," I add. "If I remember correctly, you were right in the middle of sweeping me off my feet with your irresistibly charming words when we were standing outside of the club."
He chuckles and shakes his head like a little boy who got caught doing something silly.
"You promised me you would explain that mysterious, non-superficial beauty that you claim to see in me – and that has nothing to do with my gorgeous hair or my makeup."
"Yes, you remember correctly."
"Care to elaborate?" I ask. "I followed you, after all."
He smiles at me. And this time, it is a triumphant smile, the kind that I had feared to see when I first entered the bar.
It doesn't bother me now, though. He is becoming more and more intriguing with every moment I spend with him. Judging from my current point of view, this only promises to get even better.
"I cannot deny that your looks are appealing to me, young lady," he begins. "You are beautiful in a very pure and honest way. Even though you try to hide it under that mountain of dark make-up. But even that suits you."
He pauses, casting me that weirdly intense look again.
I take another puff from the shisha and beckon him to continue.
"But all that would not have caught my attention as much as your dancing did," he finally says.
I look at him with disbelief – and start laughing. Loudly, very unladylike. Because I cannot believe what I just heard.
"You have to explain to me," I exclaim, trying hard to suppress my laughing. "You have to explain what it is about my erratic movements that cause you to come up with all these charming words and efforts to grab my attention. What is wrong with you?!"
He raises one of his eyebrows again, looking at me with suspicion. "Why do you think there has to be something wrong with me?"
"Because that is such an... odd thing to say," I whisper. "My friends actually left me alone at that club, because I embarrassed them so much. Well, and because they hated the music."
"Not a very nice move by your friends, but they have every right to do that," he says. "However, I did – by no means – say that I found your dancing beautiful."
I look at him, feeling slightly offended. And apparently it shows in my face, as he chuckles at the sight of my expression.
"You have a weird way of charming a woman," I say. "Showering her in crazy sweet words to lure her in – and then revoking everything you said."
He smiles at me. A very handsome smile, I still have to admit. This man is way too gorgeous for me, out of my league on so many levels. I still can't help but wonder what kind of sick game he might be playing with me.
Or if he is just really, really bored and looking for a one-night stand at an unusual place. Unusual for him, at least.
"I did not revoke anything," he says, still looking at me. "I am still maintaining what I said earlier, about you being a beautiful person. Or at least appearing to be. The way you move on the dancefloor is so carefree, so unlike all those posing swans, who care more about looking graceful. No matter what kind of beats are shaking the room, they remain untouched by it – and you don't. If there is something that touches your heart, you have no trouble showing it, and you don't care what it might look like to others. I like that. It is very appealing to me."
The way he looks at me while he is saying these things confuses me.
“I’d like to push the buttons that make you lose control like that,” he adds, locking me in place with his intense stare.
I feel myself blushing and turning into a stumbling mess as if my bones are turning into soft rubber under his eyes.
"Whatever," I say, trying to appear nonchalant and cool as I reach for my drink to take another – big – sip from it. But my hands are shaking – and he notices.
"See," he comments, his voice calm and confident as he nods toward my trembling hands. "I know you are trying your best to be that cool and unapproachable girl, who is way above me, trying to put me in my place. Me, the narrow-minded businessman, who you think you have all figured out. Yet, you can't hide that your heart has been touched. Why are your hands shaking when I pay you a compliment?"
I hide behind my drink as I cast him a look through narrow eyes. Who the hell does he think he is? And why am I shaking and blushing like a little schoolgirl? I hate that. And I hate that he is right about everything he is saying.
"So?" he continues. "Why do you have such trouble admitting that my words have an impact on you? Why do you care so much about what I might think if you admit it – or what others might think?"
I put my drink down and take a deep breath. "Why do you think I am concerned with these things? Didn't you just say that I look like a 'carefree' person who does not care about appearance and what others might think of her?"
"Yes," he says. "And I think that is true for the most part. But still, you are trapped in certain prejudices and notions that make it hard for you to give in to attraction when it hits you."
I look at him with indignation. "Please, what?"
He chuckles and leans forward, moving closer to me. I flinch when he lifts his right hand to touch my face. But I don't move away. He gently caresses my cheek with his thumb while his dark eyes search for mine, catching me with their intense gaze.
"You saw me," he whispers, his voice so low that only I can hear it. "You saw me and you ran away, because what you felt was scary to you. You may not be able to explain it, and neither am I. But there is something, attraction, interest. Something that is drawing us close to each other. I followed you when you ran away, just to have you enchant me with the spirit that surrounds your beautiful body when you dance."
My jaw literally dropped at his charming words. I am inclined to believe them, even though I feel more than silly for being so naive.
"You're just saying that," I whisper. "To get into my pants."
A faint smirk flees across his handsome face. "I am not denying that I would love that. I would love to get a chance to pursue this and see if I am reading you correctly, if I am interpreting what I feel when I look at the right way – or if I am just imagining things and so desperate to find someone who mesmerizes me, that I am projecting things onto you that aren't there."
He pauses for a moment and looks at me, waiting and searching for a reaction. But all I do is staring at him. With disbelief – and desire. I know I want him. His hand on my face feels warm and comfortable, weirdly familiar. His touch soothes me and sends shivers of yearning through my body.
"But," he adds. "I might lose interest if you keep insulting me."
I cannot suppress a little laugh at that. A giggle, shy and insecure like the young girl I never wanted to be, resonates between us and lifts the veil of tension.
And just as I am about to object him, he leans forward and kisses me. His lips meet mine with the force of surprise. My instincts tell me to shy away from a sudden kiss like this, but I don't want to.
Instead, I hear myself let out a little moan as I lean into him. His tongue explores mine with an unknown eagerness. It feels so right, so insanely hot. He is a brilliant kisser, so passionate and sensual, without forcing it too much. My heart has never skipped beats the way it does during this first, unusually intimate kiss we share.
His facial expression has changed after we part from each other. He moves back slowly, his hand still on my cheek and his eyes on mine. But again, there is no triumphant smile. No sign of a predator who is joyous about the fact that he succeeded in capturing his prey.
His face shows nothing but disbelief.
"Nicky," I blurt out. "My name is Nicky."
I instantly feel sorry for disturbing the beautiful silence that has marked the most intimate moment I have shared with anybody in a long time. But it felt right. It was this kiss, which finally convinced me that he
has a right to know my name. My real name, even.
He looks at me with that same disbelieving expression he portrayed directly after our kiss ended, showing no reaction to what I have said.
"Is that your real name?" he asks eventually.
I nod in silence.
He smiles and continues to caress my cheek with his thumb, gently and lovingly, as if I was the most precious being he has ever seen.
"Nice to meet you, Nicky," he whispers. "That is a cute name. Well fit for a sparkling lady like you."
"I don't know about the 'lady' part," I say, trying to be funny. "But thank you."
"Now, Nicky," he says. "Do you trust me?"
I look up at him. His face is stern now, concentrated.
"Why?" I ask.
"Would you trust me enough to come with me," he explains. "To a place where we can be alone."
"Your place?"
He shakes his head. "Not exactly. But similar. A hotel."
I frown.
"I know," he says. "You are not used to this. And you probably despise it. But do you think you could cast your ideals and your skepticism aside for tonight and just let me invite you?"
I look at him, still frowning and pondering. He feels comfortable – but this invite does not.
It's not the first time that something like this comes up. I’m no prude mind you. I do whatever I feel like, even when it’s not ladylike.
But I would insist on paying half of the room in these situations. And I would like to do that tonight as well. The problem is: I am completely broke and really shouldn't spend any more money tonight than I already have.
He looks at me, observing my inner struggle. The concern his gorgeous face is showing, appears to be real. I wish it was easier for me to trust people – and especially men. And I wish it was easier for me to love the gold digger lifestyle.
But I just can't.
"I'm sorry, I –"
"Nicky," he interrupts me. "Be a little crazy."
I look at him with confusion. "Crazy, huh?"
"Yes," he insists. "Coming from your perspective, this must be a crazy thing to do."
"Well, it's not like I haven't had one-night stands before, so –"
"That's not what I am talking about," he interrupts me again, shaking his head. "I am talking about accepting an invitation. Just like that. Without an inner struggle with your – highly admirable – ideals. When have you ever done that?"
I sigh and lift my hand to touch his on my face. I take it and gently move it down, away from my cheek.
The disappointment I see on his face as I do it almost breaks my heart. And it helps to vocalize my decision.
"You're right," I whisper. "That would be something new."
I smile at him. That smile widens as I see him smiling, too. A boyish smile that makes him look younger and insanely attractive.
"And I like new things," I add.
He laughs and shakes his head.
"Oh, Nicky," he says. "I might have to punish you for being such a tease."
"That sounds promising," I reply. And I mean it.
CHAPTER V
Nicky
"Remember, you're cool with this," he says as we are standing outside the bar to wait for the cab that he has ordered, while I took the time to let Yuka know that I am not coming home tonight.
"I am not planning to put up any more fights," I say, leaning against him.
"You better not."
He puts his arm around me and squeezes me. The night is chilly and I am not dressed properly for the current temperatures. His body's warmth feels comfortable on many levels.
Being the perfect gentleman, he has me wrapped in his jacket as we are standing close to each other. The way he puts his arm around me does remind me of a predator with his prey. And I welcome it.
A black limousine approaches us and just as I am about to make a joke about who on earth would drive a car like that in a neighborhood like this, the vehicle stops in front of us and Evan steps forward to open the door for me.
"Are you kidding me?" I exclaim as he waits for me to get in.
"Remember," he says. "No more fights."
I raise my eyebrows at him, but follow the gesture and get into the car. It is not very big, but still the most expensive and most exquisite car that I have ever been in. The leather of the seats is ridiculously soft and the entire equipment has more style and probably more money than anything I own.
I feel utterly out of place in my used up jeans and a cheap t-shirt. There is an instant concern about the filth that I am adding to this completely over-priced transportation device.
"This was not part of the deal," I whisper as the driver – whose face I cannot see since we are separated from him through a blackened glass wall – starts the engine.
Evan reaches for my hand and gently squeezes it. "I am sorry. I hope you don't feel tricked."
"A little," I whisper. "But I might be willing to forgive you."
He looks over to me, again with that boyish smile. "Guess you didn't expect your night to turn out like this?"
I shake my head. "Certainly not."
"Isn't that a good thing, though?" he wants to know. "Unpredictability."
"It is for me," I say. "But I am sure you wouldn't agree. You are the one in control, after all."
He smirks as if I caught him doing something naughty.
"You're right," he whispers. "Would you mind if I continue to do that? Exercising control."
"What do you mean?"
I look at him expectantly as he fixes me with his dark eyes. He looks like someone who has a secret that he is shy to share. His intense gaze scares me a little – but it also makes my heart race. I would never openly admit it in front of him, but I cannot wait to get to where ever he is taking us. And continue to explore what that intense kiss has promised.
"I like to be in control," he finally says. "I can't tell if you have experience with it or not – but I think I can show you a lot and give you a lot of pleasure, if you are willing to give yourself to me the way I would want you to."
I look at him, slightly confused. Without saying a word, I search for an explanation by staring into his dark eyes, his perfect face, that is too far away from me right now.
"The way you want me to?" I ask.
He nods. "Yes. To submit. Let me take the lead. I have a dominant nature, Nicky. A very specific way of giving and receiving pleasure. And I sense that you might be a good match for me in that regard."
"Oh," I breathe.
I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage and my cheeks blushing. I don't know what to say to that.
But apparently, I don't have to say anything.
He observes me with great attention. And he starts smirking. Triumphantly this time. As if I had given him the answer he was hoping for.
"Thank you," he says, sounding calm and confident as always.
"For what?" I ask.
My voice is low and hoarse. I looked down, trying to hide my embarrassment and clear my throat. "I didn't say anything..."
"You did, Nicky," he says. "The way you breathe and blush is the most beautiful answer I could have hoped for."
He squeezes my hand again and gently caresses the back of it with his thumb.
"I will make sure you will never forget this night," he whispers. "Despite your little stubbornness, you have already given me many reasons to smile tonight. You deserve nothing but the best of me."
At that moment, I have no idea what that might be. But I am soon to find out.
The hotel we finally stop at gives me another reason to put up resistance. It is not just any hotel, but a well-known five-star accommodation that towers over the entire city.
"Smooth," I joke as we get out of the limousine and head for the hotel's lobby. "You are either ridiculously rich or stupid – or a very successful mobster."
He laughs and takes my hand to lead me to the elevators.
"So, I assume you're not from here?" I ask whil
e we are waiting for the elevator to arrive. "Or why else would you have a room reserved already?"
He turns around and looks down at me.
"No fights," he reminds me. "And no questions. I think it's time for you to just let some things go and let me take the lead. All right?"
I gulp. "All right."
An evil smile appears on his face.
"Now," he says. "Do you think that's the way I would like you to address me?"
"What do you mean?"
The elevator arrives and the opening doors interrupt us. He beckons me to enter before him and I follow his gesture, but not without giving him a wary look from the side.
As soon as the doors close behind us, he surprises me by leaping at me and pushing me against the back of the elevator.
I gasp in surprise and stare up to him as he pins me against the wall by pressing his – undoubtedly toned – body against me. He is strong – and determined.
He leans down and plants a greedy kiss on my lips. I am so overwhelmed by how fast everything happens that I don't even think about pushing him away.
I don't want to anyway. He tastes so good. And his kisses are so greedy, so hungry for me and yet so loving and gentle. I catch myself moving after him with longing eyes when he ends the kiss to speak to me.
"From now on," he whispers. "I want you to call me Sir. And when I ask you a question, I want you to reply with 'Yes, Sir'. Do you understand?"
I almost burst out laughing, but the seriousness with which he looks at me stops me from doing so.
“Excuse me?” I ask, arching my eyebrows with amusement. “Are you serious?”
His expression doesn’t change, and it makes me feel small and silly.
“Dead serious,” he says. “Do you understand?”
There’s nothing playful about his demeanor anymore, nothing gentle, nothing charming. I’m deliciously scared.
"Yes, Sir,” I breathe, relishing the feeling that travels along my spine as I display an obedience that is new to me.
"Good girl," he whispers and gives me a quick peck on the cheek.
His little praise makes my heart jump in an unknown way. No one has ever called me a good girl. No one has ever caused this kind of reaction in me with only his words.
