Page 35 of Tempt Our Fate
“Stop being dramatic.” My fingers wrap around her wrist. I pull again, this time a little harder. Finally, I get one of her hands to move enough to see both her eyes. “Everything you saw was exactly what I wanted the beholder to see. I’ll deny this if you ask me again, but to be honest, I was flattered you noticed all the little details I’d hidden in there.”
“I can’t believe you actually have talent. I thought all there was to you was, well…you being a dick.”
“Maybe I like it that way.”
She catches her plump bottom lip between her teeth. Without invitation, I wonder what it’d be like to catch her lip betweenmyteeth. I imagine myself tugging on it, digging my teeth deeper until she’d moan.
Fuck. What does she sound like moaning?
She seems so untamed. I bet she doesn’t hold back in bed. I’d bite and suck before licking across the seam of her lips, hearing the sound of…
“Camden?”
I shake my head once, ridding the imagination from my mind. She looks at me expectantly, her eyes wide with confusion.
“Hm?” My brain’s still playing catch-up, trying desperately to wipe the thought of her moaning underneath me, to form anything else coherent at the moment.
“Why would you rather let everyone think there’s nothing to you other than being a dick instead of maybe letting yourself be a little more…human?”
I shrug, not wanting to have this conversation with her. Quite frankly, I don’t want to be doing anything with her. I need to get away immediately. I’m not thinking rationally. My libido has taken over, and I can’t stop imagining shutting her questions down by having my cock down her throat. “Have you ever thought that maybe I am just a dick? The fact that I don’t like to just sell art but I also like to create it doesn’t change that.”
“If you say so.” The sarcastic tone of her voice tells me she doesn’t believe me for a second. I want her to think I’m just an asshole. If people think you’re a pompous jackass, they have low expectations of you. I don’t like expectations—then I feel like I have to live up to them. The thing about other people’s expectations is that you’re never really able to live up to them. You’ll end up disappointing them, and then you feel like shit for doing so.
“Can I ask you one thing?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
When I find her eyes again, I’m struck by how close we are. She’s now sitting up, bringing us too close together. If I leaned in slightly, I might feel her breath mingle with mine. Her scent would surround me, more than it already is. The idea of it sent my senses into overdrive from the moment we started this stupid day together.
“I won’t tell you my secret recipe for chocolate chip cookies,” she mutters. I wonder if her half-assed attempt at a joke is a defense. I know it’s something I’ve done when things don’t feel like they’re under my control and I desperately need to get a grip on the situation.
This seems like one of those situations. We’ve both leaned in slightly. I can see the slight tinge of pink on her cheeks, despite it being the start of fall. We’re so close I can make out her individual eyelashes. Every time she blinks, her long lashes kiss the apples of her cheeks. Her lips have a sheen to them from her licking them with anticipation. Does that mean she’s imagining kissing me the way I’m imagining kissing her?
“To be honest, I don’t give a damn about your cookie recipe. I don’t enjoy baking.”
The swells of her breasts almost spill out the top of her shirt. My fingers twitch at my sides, desperate to run along the soft, exposed skin. Would she tremble underneath my touch? All I’d have to do is reach out to find out…
“Ask your question.”
I don’t ask my question. It’s escaped to the back of my mind. At the forefront is the need to lean in closer. Maybe after just one kiss, one swipe of our tongues against one another, I’ll be able to get her out of my mind. I’ll escape to New York tomorrow and forget all about the woman who drives me mad in more ways than one.
Against my better judgment, I reach up and sweep a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. It didn’t seem to be bothering her, but I wanted the excuse to touch her. To finally feel her skin under my touch.
Her chest hitches at the contact. We’re both caught in the moment, staring into each other’s eyes, wondering who will completely cave first. It’s a constant push and pull with us. I’m not a man who likes to lose or a man who gives in to temptation, but for her, right now, I might be.
My thumb skirts along her cheekbone as I memorize the feel of her soft, flushed skin. I won’t allow myself to surrender to this again. I need to commit every single moment to memory before I come to my senses all over again.
“Camden,” she breathes, leaning into my touch.
God, she’s reactive. Her chest heaves, and her lips part, just waiting to press against mine.
“Yes, shortcake?”
“What are you doing?” I wonder if she realizes she’s leaned in closer, placing her lips inches from mine.
“I’m thinking of doing something incredibly fucking stupid.”
“Like?”
“Like tasting that sharp tongue of yours. I can’t help but wonder if your insults won’t bother me as much if I get to taste them.”