Response: Hell no. Repeats are a surefire way to trigger an emotional attachment.
Situation: She suggests I go bareback inside her.
Response: Isn’t that the definition of falling in love?
See? It works. Using this method, I’ve established rules for myself, rules that have protected my heart these past few years, as well as my bank account.
Tonight, with Genevieve, I can’t seem to focus on my objective at all, and I have a feeling if I examined my behavior I’d discover much of it has contradicted my don’t-fall-in-love goal. I’ve pursued her. I’ve let her become too interesting within the space of less than an hour. I’ve given her too much of my attention, noticing each time she smiles or speaks to another guy, my gut clenching with envy. Any risk management assessment report would mark all of those factors in the hazardous column.
But just because there’s a risk doesn’t mean the opportunity should necessarily be avoided all together. Right? The best businessmen are willing to venture. That’s where the most satisfying rewards are found. And because I’m aware of the danger, I’m more likely to avoid it.
Even I recognize it as bullshit.
It doesn’t stop me from escorting Genevieve through the crowd. My skin is on fire through my jacket from the touch of her hand on my arm, and let’s not even talk about how badly I need to adjust myself. When I catch her glancing toward the man she’d spoken to just before finding me, I’m already piqued to react poorly.
“Your father?” I ask, feeling nearly insane from the possibility that he isn’t.
She sighs. “I look just like him, don’t I?”
So he is her father. Thank fucking Christ.
I use her question as an excuse to study her. “No, you don’t. Maybe a bit around the cheekbones. I only asked because the two of you acted so familiar. I worried I’d been flirting with someone who was already taken.”
She rolls her eyes, but the spark in them tells me she’s not entirely annoyed. “Just because he’s my father doesn’t mean I’m not taken by someone else.”
“Are you?” I challenge.
“No. I’m not.”
My instant grin tells her how I feel about this bit of news.
Looking away, she mumbles, “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m being so honest.”
“You definitely should have lied. What a missed opportunity.” I stretch my arm out to hold the door open for her.
“Perhaps.”
She brushes past me. The physical contact is intoxicating. Every nerve in my body sits up in attention. Don’t even ask what my dick is doing.
“There you are perhaps-ing me again. You have no idea what that does to me.”
We take a few more steps before she stops and gives me her full attention, her grey eyes searing into my skin. “All right. I’ll bite. What does it do to you?”
“Well. It’s a ‘maybe’. It’s a ‘possibly’.” I move so I’m facing her. “I’m a pretty optimistic guy, Genevieve. You leave the door open even a crack with possibilities, I’m going to slide on inside.”
There’s no mistaking my deeper meaning. It’s forward and a bit crass, but we’re outside the museum now, and soon I’ll either put her in a cab or in my car. I so want it to be my car that I’m willing to make the bold move.
Luckily, she doesn’t slap me.
She might even like what I’m suggesting, based on the pink blush at her collarbone. As she considers, her tongue swipes across her bottom lip, sending a jolt to the already stiff bulge in my pants, and I’m struck with the sudden strange desire to punish her for it. Spank her pretty ass for making such a sexy gesture. Turn all of her backside red for the ache she’s caused my balls.
Holy hell, where did that fantasy come from?
I inhale slowly, trying to release the images from my mind. I’ve never had such wicked thoughts about a stranger. Part of me is afraid I’ll lose all control if I take her home. A bigger part of me is afraid I don’t actually care.
Seconds pass, seconds so fraught with tension they feel like an eternity. “Do you have a car parked with the valet?” I ask, eager in her silence.
She shakes her head. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
This time she doesn’t hesitate, glancing in the direction of the parking attendant. “Give the man your claim ticket then. You can drive me to my hotel.”
Relief rains through me. She’s only asked for a ride, but ah, the possibilities.
Five minutes later, the valet pulls up with my car. Genevieve raises an eyebrow. “A Bugatti?”
I’m so impressed she can name the model that I practically jizz in my pants. “It’s the best.”
She shakes her head, and I swear I hear her mutter something about rich men and their toys, but I don’t respond, too occupied with inspecting my car and then passing the attendant the cash I promised him earlier for returning my vehicle in perfect condition.
I slide into the driver’s seat, and when I look over at Genevieve as she buckles her seatbelt, a wave of pure, unadulterated lust rolls through me. I’m very aware that I’ve trapped her, that she’s now defenseless to my whims. Not that I’d take advantage, but goddamn, to think that I could…
I nearly shiver at my own vile thoughts.
Glad she can’t know what I’m thinking, I flash her a smile. “So. Where am I taking you?”
“I’m staying at the Park Hyatt on 57th Street.”
“Fancy.” The Park Hyatt is one of the nicest luxury hotels in New York. That means this girl has money, which isn’t a bad thing. Just, the swell of my wallet in my back pocket is usually one of my better attributes. If wealth doesn’t attract her, I hope I’m not shit out of luck when it comes to getting an invitation up to her room.