Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
And I am wanting it badly with him. From his swagger, to his confidence, to his maturity, Nick’s everything I’ve been waiting for.
But I’m not quite sure how to play this round of do-we-or-don’t-we poker. Best to wait. I glance around Catalina’s, savoring the sultry atmosphere of the bustling patio, the vibrant music, the clever dishes. “This place is amazing. Thank you for dinner. Are you a restaurant scout? Because…wow.”
Nick smiles but doesn’t gloat. “I’m glad you like it.”
He leans a little closer, then lifts a finger, gesturing toward the edge of my eye. “So is that a winged eyeliner?”
My chest flutters. No man has ever asked me about my makeup before. “Yes. I did it myself.”
“I had a feeling.”
My pulse flutters even harder. He must have googled me after seeing The Makeover on my conference name tag. “Did you watch my videos?”
He takes a moment to take me all in. “I did. Like your blue eyeshadow one. You are gorgeous in blue, especially with your ink,” he says, his gaze drifting to my left shoulder. My daisy’s covered right now, but the stem is visible, including the two leaves at the bottom—designed like music notes instead of leaves. I feel a little self-conscious when he looks at it so I’m glad he doesn’t linger too long before he returns his gaze to my face, then says, “Especially with your stunning eyes. But I suspect you look gorgeous in…anything,” he says.
But I hear what’s unsaid.
You’d look gorgeous in nothing too.
Only, I want to hear from his lips that he’s dying to see me wearing that. So I wait. I’ll wait all night if I need to. “Thank you, Nick,” I say.
“I watched several of your videos earlier,” he says and it’s not said as a confession, like he’s embarrassed he looked me up, or like he thinks he engaged in some dirty little secret as a heterosexual man watching a woman’s makeup videos. There’s pride in his tone.
“I had a feeling,” I say.
“I wouldn’t know a damn thing about winged eyeliner if I hadn’t been addicted to my phone while I was getting ready earlier. My phone got a pretty good workout.”
“The image of you watching my makeup videos while you got ready to see me is going to be hard to get out of my head,” I say, unable to suppress a smile or to stifle the zing in my belly.
In fact, I do the opposite of stifling it. I’m jazzed from his interest, so I kick my sandaled foot under the table back and forth, feeling good, feeling frisky. Then Nick surprises me, capturing my ankle in his big hand.
First my elbow, now my ankle. These unexpected touches light me up.
With an audible hum, he slides his hand up, wrapping his palm around my calf.
That feels so good. So decadent. His hand is strong and determined. He rubs, leaving tendrils of heat in his wake, sparks that spread all over me. “I liked watching your videos, Lola. I felt like I was getting to know you. To understand you.”
“What did you understand?” I ask, fighting to stay in the conversation rather than melting into a puddle.
“You love teaching, sharing, talking. You’re vibrant, and I enjoyed watching you work.”
There’s a subtext to his words—he finds it sexy that I like what I do. He wasn’t just staring at my videos because he thinks I’m pretty. He likes that I like my job. Perhaps because he so clearly likes his.
“I liked watching you work earlier today too,” I say, winging a smile his way.
“But turnaround is fair play,” he says devilishly, traveling his fingers down my calf now. “Maybe I need to find a way to distract you.”
This is my chance to kick the door open more. To push closer to what I want without being a Bryce. “You could, say, leave comments online about what you want to do to me,” I offer suggestively.
Immediately he grips my calf harder, tighter. Then his hand ventures up my knee, reaching the fabric of my dress. He pushes the material up, covering my knee with his palm. His fingertips stroke my skin, higher, a little higher.
“But see, I’m not the kind of man who’d leave comments online for the woman he craves. I’d tell you face-to-face. So I can watch your reaction. Savor it,” he says, then grazes his fingers up my thigh. Heat spreads to the ends of me. “I just haven’t decided.”
My breath catches, and I feel wobbly even though I’m in a chair. “You haven’t decided what you want to do to me?” I ask, so I’m crystal clear.
There’s a confident nod. An intensity in his eyes. “There are so many ideas flickering through my head. So many things I desperately want to do to you later,” he says, like he’s playing with ideas, weighing possibilities.