by Stacy Gail
The corners of his mouth began to curl. “So you are a sexual athlete. Literally.”
Oh, God. “I’m just saying I’m not a nympho. There’s more to me than the fact that I can probably hit every position there is in the Kama Sutra.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, looking heavenward.
“My point is, I don’t need sex. I’d think the type of woman you’d be attracted to would want sex all the time, and I haven’t had sex since I came back to Chicago. Up until recently I haven’t even given sex a thought. That’s how much of a nympho I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.” He slanted her a complicated glance before opening the car door. “Get out.”
For a fraction of a second, she thought she’d offended him so much he was going to drop her ass right there in an unfamiliar parking lot. But then he turned off the engine and got out himself, and by the time she’d done the same he was already around to her side of the car.
“Styx, what—”
“You say you haven’t thought about sex until recently,” he said, talking over her until she gave up with a huff. Reaching out, he shut her car door, then moved so that she was between it and his body, so close he was almost standing on her toes. “What was it that made you start thinking about sex, Syd?”
She froze. Oops. “Uh, what?”
“You heard me.” His hands went to her hips, and his head bent down so he could look her in the eye. “Something restarted that sweet little engine of yours. I want to know what it was.”
“Um…” The question had her face going nuclear-reactor hot, and she couldn’t believe what she’d so casually given away. How stupid could she be? “Well, it was kind of a process…”
“Yeah? When did that process begin? What triggered you to start thinking about sex? Say it.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid… “You. Okay? It was you. But I swear, I’m not some creepy stalker about to jump your bones, or anything like that. I didn’t even realize what was happening to me at first. It just sort of crept up on me. And heaven knows I didn’t act on it because I’m not your type, so I swe—”
She never got to finish swearing that he was never an actual target of her creepy stalker tendencies, because his mouth came down on hers. As it did, she could feel a hint of laughter under his breath.
Great.
Now he was laughing at her.
Then again, her admission had earned her a kiss.
So, great again. This time for real.
Their first kiss had been when they were sitting down, so she hadn’t been able to get the full picture of just how much bigger he was than her. She felt ridiculously delicate and feminine as his body pressed against hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from going on her tiptoes to greedily seek a deeper kiss.
He gave her exactly what she wanted, pushing her against the car while at the same time lifting her hips up to meet his. Held between the car and him, her feet barely touched the ground as she reveled in the feel of him against her. The unmistakable bulge of his hardening cock stole her breath, and she wrapped her arms around him to hold him closer. Wonder of wonders, this man actually wanted her, and there was no mistaking that he seriously got off on kissing her, if his low rumble of pleasure was any indication as he danced his tongue with hers.
Needless to say, she loved that.
“That,” he murmured after they at last came up for air, “is the best way to shut you up. From this point on, when you’re talking shit I don’t want to hear, be prepared to have me do that to you.”
Frantically she searched her mind for the thread of conversation. “You mean you don’t like me saying that I’m not your ty—”
“Stop.” He dropped a hard kiss on her lips before letting her go and taking a resolute step back. “If you keep that up, I’m going to wind up seeing if there’s enough room in the ‘Vette to bang you good and proper, and I don’t think there is. Let’s go find you a car that does.”
“I usually go for good gas mileage and a reliable warranty,” she managed, belatedly getting her brain into gear while he went about opening the car door for her. “Strangely enough, I've never considered buying a car strictly for the purpose of whether or not it had enough room for sexy times.”
“Welcome to your new life, Syd,” he said without a hint that he was joking.
Chapter Eight
“I can’t believe we spent an entire day looking at cars, and I still don’t have one.”
Styx glanced over at Sydney’s woebegone expression and nearly cracked up. He had no doubt she’d pulled that same pouty face when she was a toddler and wanted to go home. “Awww, poor widdle Sydney-poo. Want me to carry you?”
“Jerk,” she said without missing a beat, eradicating the little-girl image with a bubbling laugh that charmed the hell out of him. “What I want is for you to explain what was wrong with the last three cars we looked at.”
“They were cars.” Duh.
“Yes, Styx. When a person goes car-shopping, cars are generally what they look at.”
“Every single one you picked was too small—fucking coffins on wheels. You need something that isn’t a toy.”
“So says the guy driving a Corvette. I can’t get over how it feels like my butt’s scooting along an inch or so off the road.”
“Hey, four inches, at least. Give credit where it’s due.”
“Men take the matter of inches so seriously.”
Damn, that mouth of hers. “You know you’re begging for trouble with talk like that, right?”
“I’m so scared.” She laughed again, and it was a sound he was fast getting addicted to. “Where are we going next? Another car lot?”
“All that shopping’s made me hungry. What kind of food do you like? Whatever you do, don’t say vegan.”
“Anything but frozen pizza. Or brisket,” she added with a shudder. “All things considered, I’m very much off brisket right now.”
“Cool. Chinese it is.”
“Yay, Chinese,” she said, then looked down at her phone when the text chime pinged. “Do you have a place in mind?”
“A place called Chao Chow. Ever been?”
“No, but I’m asking a friend about it right…now.” A few seconds later, another text chime pinged and she chuckled. “My friend Jada basically eats like you do—frozen stuff or eating out. She’s my go-to source when it comes to restaurant recs, and she just gave Chao Chow a dozen heart-eyed emojis. Looks like we’re in for a treat.”
In less than ten minutes, Styx had his hand at the small of Sydney’s back as he guided her into his favorite little hole in the wall off of Fulton Market. They grabbed a table with a killer view of Navy Pier and the bright lights of the Ferris wheel as the sun set in the west. When she ordered nothing but water to start off, he shook his head and grabbed up a menu.
Time to broaden her horizons in a big way.
“We’re going to try a little bit of everything,” he announced when the waitress sped off to get their drinks. “Their duck fried rice and sweet and sour egg drop soup are off the fucking charts, and they do a twice-cooked pork belly that just might make you orgasm. I’ve always wanted to try their pickled cucumbers and their bone marrow potstickers, but I draw the line at the duck blood soup. Sound good to you?”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
Her jaw-drop was ridiculously cute. “Styx, no one can eat all of that.”
“Not in one sitting. But I’m a big believer in taking your time when you’re indulging in the things that make life worth living.”
“Chinese food falls into that category?”
“Hell, yeah. Food. Cars. Women.” He looked at her from over the edge of the menu. “When it comes to finding exactly what it is you like in this world, none of these things should ever be rushed.”
“Funnily enough, I’ve never given much thought to finding the right woman.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He set aside the menu and took her hand in his. What he had a craving for w
asn’t on that damn menu, anyway. “Tell me about men.”
“Men?”
“Yeah, Syd. Men.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “You mentioned someone in Paris when you first got there, but you also said you don’t have anyone in your life now. You must be pretty picky yourself since I don’t have some crazy-eyed, jealous dude breathing down my neck right about now.”
“I’m not picky. I just know I’m not great girlfriend material, so I don’t actively put myself out there.”
He stared at her. “Shit. My hearing’s going.”
“Sorry?”
“I thought you just said you weren’t great girlfriend material.”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“What the hell, Syd.” Again his fingers tightened on hers. Not in comfort, but in wordless reprimand. “What the fuck do you think you’re lacking, fireworks and rainbows flying out of your ass?”
She snorted. “If that ever happens, get me to the nearest doctor. Or barring that, Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts.”
“I’m serious. Why the hell would you ever think you’re not the hottest damn thing going when you obviously are?”
She stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
Jesus. “Yeah, I am.”
“I can’t believe I’m about to point out all my flaws, but whatever.” She took a deep breath like she was about to dive into deep water. “First off, let’s start with the biggie. I’m not perfect. Also, I’m short. And I’m never going to be famous, and the world will never be at my feet. I was hand-picked to do a job where it’s necessary to be unremarkable, because obviously that’s what my current boss saw in me. This is who I am, and I’m totally fine with that. But I’m not about to inflict myself on someone who deserves more than that.”
“Holy fuck,” he muttered, looking to the ceiling while trying not to explode. Exploding wouldn’t help, but something had to be done. This was a goddamn emergency.
“What?”
“Listen to my very carefully, because I’m not going to repeat myself on this,” he enunciated, while a river of lava-hot rage twisted through him. Honest to God, if he ever found himself in the same room with her parents, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. “No man worth that label gives two shits about whether or not his woman’s perfect. If he’s honest, he damn well knows he’s no masterpiece himself, and if he’s smart, he knows flaws are what make a person beautiful inside and out. A petite woman makes a man like me so caveman-protective I have to stop myself from pinning you to my side just to reassure myself you’re safe. I’m pissed I didn’t pick up on you weeks ago, but I’m even more pissed that you didn’t make sure I picked up on you. If you had, we could’ve been enjoying each other all this time, but hey—better late than never. As for the rest of that bullshit you said about being famous or whatever… That’s just leftover poison from your unbelievably screwed-up parents. They made you feel like you’re never going to be enough—not just for them, but for anyone. Truth is, you’re a fun-sized goddess who’s accomplished more in her twenty-plus years on earth than most people ever will, and no one is worthy of you. Well, almost no one. I’m pretty damn positive I’m man enough to give it a shot.”
As he spoke, her eyes widened until they began to water. For a moment he wondered if he’d gone too far, but then her fingers wrapped more tightly around his. “Fun-sized?”
“Yeah. Your new nickname, by the way,” he added, bringing her knuckles to his lips, while his gaze remained locked on hers. “Fun-Size. That’s definitely you.”
“Oh, boy.” She pressed her free hand to her chest, as if she couldn’t get enough air. “You do realize this is going to confuse the situation, right?”
“Your nickname?”
“You know what I mean.”
The pretend girlfriend shit. Of course he knew, but he merely shrugged. “I’m not confused. You shouldn’t be, either. Enjoy the moment while it’s happening, and fuck everything else. Life is too short to question every damn thing that comes along, Fun-Size. Just roll with it and see what happens”
“Just roll with it,” she repeated as if to herself, before her hand tightened on his. “Are you saying, hypothetically speaking, that you’d be open to…more than performing kisses or whatever while in the presence of your family?”
“Was my family around when I kissed you in that parking lot?”
Her blink made him chuckle. “Well… your brother was there for the first one.”
“I didn’t know Trey had gone ahead and parked behind us until that asshole knocked on my window, and that wasn’t what I asked. Was my family around when I kissed you in that parking lot? For that matter, are they anywhere near us now?” he added, turning her hand over in his so he could bring her palm to his lips.
He heard the tremor in her breath. “No.”
“Then you’ve got your answer, don’t you? Now, how about you give me an answer on what you want to eat?” he added while their waitress zeroed in on their table. “I’m in the mood to try everything, so feel free to go for whatever you want. Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
When her eyes met his, he saw she got the message. “Okay.”
The amount of food Styx could put away was mind-boggling.
Thanks to her upbringing, Sydney had always been highly conscious of her food intake. For a time during her early teen years, she’d even been borderline-anorexic, trying to take in less than a thousand calories per day while forcing herself to dance until she dropped. Her parents had gotten her the healthy counseling she’d needed only when the school nurse threatened to call in child protection services, and even then her mother had said that only a starving dancer was a true dancer. It had taken Sydney years and an education on nutrition in Europe to get on a positive footing when it came to food. At least now she could eat a donut at Edibles without feeling so much guilt she couldn’t enjoy it.
Clearly, Styx Hardwick had no such hang-ups.
“Try this.” Wielding chopsticks like a pro, he held up a smoked pork bun to her mouth. “I always wanted to try these, and I’m glad I went for it tonight. They’re the fucking bomb.”
“I don’t know if I can—” Before she could finish the sentence, he shoved it into her mouth, and she had no choice but to take it.
“See? Amazing, right?” Clearly happy, Styx went back to picking his way through the insane selection of food, from lo mein noodles and barbecued short spareribs, to potstickers and egg drop soup. “They’ll make great leftovers, too. When I’m at work I usually go across the street to this greasy spoon-type diner and eat whatever crap they’re slinging. This’ll be so much better, as long as no one steals my shit before I can get to it.”
“What’s it like to work at the greatest tattoo studio in the world?” Sydney asked, fumbling a bit with her chopsticks. “My usual workday is basically a snorefest. I get up, head into the office to be briefed by the manager and the police liaison officer as to what I specifically should look out for, and then I wander the aisles looking for sticky-fingered people. What’s a normal day like at House Of Payne?”
“There’s no such thing as a normal day at House Of Payne,” came the drawling reply. Casually he plucked up the piece of twice-cooked pork belly she’d failed to pick up and fed it to her like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Last week some famous soccer dude came in with the ugliest, most embarrassing tat of a sausage hanging by a noose on his interior thigh—guess it was a joke about being well-hung, though I never asked, because there are some things I don’t wanna fucking know. He bitched the whole time about how much it hurt, the pussy. Yesterday we had the whole facility locked down because some Canadian singer was there to get some ink done by Payne himself.”
She leaned forward and looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear her. “Who was it?”
“My money was on Celine Dion, but rumor around the breakroom was that it was Bieber.”
“Dion would have been cooler.”
&
nbsp; “My thoughts exactly. Do you have any ink?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again on a baffled huff. “Wow, my strict programming almost made me say that no dancer would ever mark her body in a way that would distract from the dance. I haven’t been a dancer for years.”
“Like you said, it’s programming. But you’re smart enough to spot it when you stumble over it, like now. Just give it all the middle fingers it deserves and move on.”
“This particular bit of programming definitely deserves the middle finger, because I find tattoos beautiful.” Without thinking, she reached out and ran her fingers over his forearm. Then, when the muscles tightened under her touch and he went stock still, she yanked her hand back as if burned. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I just invaded your personal space without even—”
“I liked it. Invade away.” Reaching across the table, he caught her hand and put it back on his forearm before looking into her eyes. “What was it you were saying about tattoos?”
He had to be freaking kidding. No woman could hold a casual conversation while looking into his eyes and being encouraged to caress him. “Um… I think they’re beautiful. I remember wanting one when I was a teen, though I’m not sure if that was a genuine desire, or part of my rebellion.” Desire. Yes, at the moment she was quite the expert on it.
“Have you thought about getting one recently?”
She looked down at her hand on his forearm and was vaguely surprised to find her greedy fingers were slowly gliding over the colorful artwork decorating his skin. “It’s just something I keep putting off. It is on my bucket list, though.”
“What would you get, if you ever got around to it?”
“A phoenix,” she said without hesitation. “There’s a reason why, but it’s difficult to explain.”
“Because you thought part of yourself died when ballet was taken from you, but you rose from the ashes and remade yourself. You were made to feel like you weren’t good enough to keep going, yet here you are, stronger than ever. Nothing will bring you that low ever again.”
