With a lingering lick on her bottom lip, he pulled away and grinned, his dark eyes intense and hazy.
“I can’t believe you did that.” Flustered, she tried to scoop herself another spoonful. Her white plastic spoon skittered onto the tabletop.
She grabbed for it, but his hands wrapped around hers. In the next instant, he was kissing her again—sweet, closed-mouth kisses that still felt scandalous. And too delicious to resist. The gelato shop dropped away. The people disappeared. In that moment, it was just her and Michael, the taste of ice cream, and their slowly warming lips.
* * *
• • •
As Michael eased his tongue between Stella’s parted lips, the chilled silk and mint chocolate sweetness of her mouth drove him out of his mind. He forgot he was seducing her. He even forgot why. All he knew was her taste and the hot sighs of her breath. He wanted to devour her.
Did she know she was making those soft humming sounds as she returned his kisses? Or that her cool fingers had snuck beneath the cuff of his shirt and were caressing his wrist?
He wanted to slide his hands up her bared thighs and slip them beneath the short hem of her dress so he could touch her again. But the last time he’d done that, he’d scared the hell out of her.
Because she didn’t want to make him feel the way she had with those three assholes.
Clients never worried about him like that. Why did she? He wished she’d stop. It was fucking with his head.
“Easy, man,” a laughing voice interjected. “You’re in a public establishment.”
Stella tore away, touching trembling fingers to her red lips. She’d surprised him today by trading her glasses for contacts and leaving her hair down in loose waves. She even wore makeup, though he’d kissed off all her lip gloss. That was fine. Like this, she was almost too beautiful to be real.
When the group of wiseasses at the next table started clapping and cheering, Michael expected her to grow flustered and embarrassed. She didn’t. She ducked her head in that shy way she had and laughed along with them. Her soft smile and the luminous look in her eyes, however, were just for him, and they made him feel like he’d single-handedly vanquished an army. He was the one she saw, the one she smiled at, no one else.
His plan to seduce her out of her anxiety was working. He had no doubt that by the time he took her home tonight, she’d be ready to check the big boxes on her lesson plans. He should have done this from the beginning. Everyone knew if you wanted inside someone’s pants, you didn’t start in the bedroom. That was what seduction, romance, hand-holding, and dancing were for. That was what these ice cream kisses were for.
The problem was they were working on him, too. The more time he spent with her, the stronger his attraction to her grew—and not just physically. If he couldn’t check all her boxes within the next two lessons, he’d feel obligated to extend the length of their arrangement, and that was a bad idea. He might do something stupid and fall for her.
Never once did he imagine he could spin a fairy-tale ending out of such a scenario. Not only were they worlds apart in terms of education and culture, but Stella was rich. If she learned about his dad and the shitty things he’d done to get his hands on money, she’d never be able to trust Michael. There was a reason they had sayings like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, like father like son, and a chip off the old block. He fought against it and hated his dad for it, but he carried that same badness inside himself. He was a ticking time bomb, and he didn’t want Stella to be around when his endurance ran out and he exploded, hurting everyone around him.
Sex was the way out of this. Check the boxes, finish the lessons, move on. Only now that he knew her better, he wanted to do more than teach her how to be good at sex. He wanted to give her the best nights of her life.
Tonight, he was giving her fireworks.
Chapter 10
After dinner at a fusion restaurant, Stella walked with Michael down streets lined with posh department stores and skyscrapers bearing the names of large banks. Pedestrian traffic—one part tourist, one part native city dweller in Windbreakers, one part young partygoer dressed to the nines—choked the sidewalks and spilled onto the roads, where cars passed at a slow crawl.
This was the Bay Area at night, something she had never cared to experience. Surprisingly, she was having a good time. When it came to escorting, Michael was the full package. He was great both in and out of bed. His very public kisses should have embarrassed her, but instead, she’d loved them. Who wouldn’t love being kissed by Michael where people could see and admire and become green with envy? He held her hand every chance he got, and he was easy to talk to. She didn’t usually enjoy new things, but Michael made her feel safe. With him at her side, she was a part of this busy San Francisco night, not just an onlooker. There was something novel and wonderful about being in a crowd and not feeling alone.
They neared a set of red velvet ropes where scantily clad women and men in suits waited in long lines. A bouncer raked coldly appraising eyes over Stella’s body and face, making her lean into Michael.
“Is this the club?” she asked, feeling her anxiety resurface.
He wrapped an arm around her and nodded. To the bouncer, he said, “We should be on the list. The name is—”
The bouncer tipped his buzzed head toward the entrance. “Go on in.”
Michael brushed a kiss against her temple, tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and walked with her toward the front doors of 212 Fahrenheit. A third bouncer held the door open for them, nodding at Michael as they passed.
“They let us in because they think you’ll be good for business,” Michael whispered in her ear.
Her cheeks heated, and she tried not to let his words go to her head. She’d gotten her hair and makeup done for tonight. This wasn’t really her.
A decent number of people milled about the interior of the club, and she fisted her hands and gave herself a quick pep talk. She’d been to benefit dinners and work galas. This shouldn’t be a problem. The din of their conversations mixed with subdued electronic music and filled her ears. Thankfully, neither of those things was particularly loud. She could still think.
The space was one open room decorated in a minimalist modern style with exposed metal beams and sharp edges. A large bar occupied the back, and a DJ controlled the music from a crow’s nest on the adjacent wall. Seating was sparse and came in the form of upholstered booths centered around low metal tables. There were only four such arrangements, and two were occupied.
“I want one of those tables.” Her voice came out sure and steady, and the sound reassured her, loosened the knots in her stomach. She was doing fine.
“They’re not free.”
She slipped her credit card out from the top of her dress and handed it to Michael, laughing when he stared at her with a surprised grin. “I had nowhere else to put it.”
He slid his hands up her back and pulled her close. “What else is in there?” he asked as he peered at her modest show of cleavage.
“My driver’s license.”
“I have pockets, you know. You could have given me your cards and phone to hold for you.”
“I didn’t think of that. I left my phone at home because I couldn’t fit it in.” But now that she knew it was an option . . . This was why women had boyfriends.
Except he wasn’t her boyfriend.
Michael’s fingertip tucked beneath the bodice of her dress and skimmed across the front. It brushed inadvertently across a nipple, making her blood race and breast swell before he found the license and slipped it free. From the twinkle in his eye, she realized it hadn’t been an accident at all.
His expression softened as he swept his thumb over the photograph on her driver’s license. In the outdated picture, she looked young and extremely shy—an accurate description for the time. She liked to think she’d gained sophistication since then. Just look at where she was now.
“That was right after I finished my postdoc.”
“How old were you here?”
“Twenty-five.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You look eighteen. Even now, you barely look legal.”
“Allow me to demonstrate how legal I am by drinking.”