by Lauren Runow
Swiping my finger in black paint, I slowly lower my hand to his golden skin and run it over his chest, feeling the heated skin and then flexing my hand over it. His heart beats wildly beneath my palm as I smear it down his body, running over every bump of his abs.
His gaze lifts to mine as his lips part. Placing his brush on the table, he follows suit, swirling his fingers in lavender and then laying them on my ribs. He lets his hand dance from left to right across my body, making me suck in air at the heady sensations that settle low, just at the top of my panties.
With blue, I explore his arms, and with pink, he caresses mine.
When my hands move to his sides, he laughs but doesn’t pull away, just as I let him coat my throat before his finger travels down my spine and settles near my ass.
This is, without a doubt, the sexiest thing I’ve ever done, and we’re hardly touching each other in a titillating manner. Having Jake’s hands on me is such a damn turn-on that I feel like we’ve had an hour of foreplay.
Our breaths are heavy, and our laughter is deep, depending on what we’re doing to the other. It all feels so good, and I don’t want it to end.
Rex walks over to check on us. “You two are pros at this. You both look great. What did you think?”
Besides the fact that I’m totally and utterly turned on right now?
“Very cool spot, Rex. I’ll be sure to check it out again,” Jake says nonchalantly, like he’s not affected the way I am.
I hate that I feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him coming here again with someone else.
They both turn to me.
“What did you think, Lace? Glad you came?” Rex asks.
“This is most definitely a place I’ll never forget.”
“Nice,” Rex says with a huge smile. “Let’s get you home while the image is still fresh in your mind, and feel free to plug my shop name in the book.” He winks.
For a moment, I forgot the reason we came. While I loved being part of the scene, I have to remind myself that I’m only here for research.
Jake stands, and I laugh at the mess I made of his chiseled body.
I lean forward and touch his hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being so supportive.” I raise a shoulder and try to explain, “When I went to your shop, I needed a distraction. My mom isn’t so keen on what I write, so it’s good for my heart to know that I have a friend who thinks it’s cool enough to help me get through my writer’s block.”
That grin that I’ve come to adore graces his face.
“You know, you can totally pay me back by going home, wearing only your underwear the entire drive.”
I laugh at his joke, and yet my mind is reeling. The words to a new scene are fresh in my head, and my literary hero is more real than I ever imagined.
Chapter Eight
“Oh, this would look so cute on you,” Charisse says as she holds up a dress.
She asked me to join her on her lunch break to run to her favorite boutique that’s having a flash sale.
She’s right; it is nice, but I can’t think of an occasion where I’d actually wear it. It’s a glittery-gold shift dress with long sleeves, a low neckline, and short hemline.
“It’s very pretty, but I like casual slip-on dresses that can be dressed up or down, depending on what kind of shoes I slide on with it. This is definitely something you’d wear on a hot date … with a billionaire sexual dominant.”
She gives me a deadpan stare. “That’s where your mind goes?”
I laugh as I hold it up to her. “You and Melody could go out for a night on the town. I’ll watch Aubrey.”
“Nope, this is what a single girl in her twenties wears on a first date. You’re trying it on.”
Charisse takes the dress and spins me toward the mirror on the wall, holding the hanger to my neck to showcase how the dress would look on me.
The way the colors mix with the material brings out my skin tone. And I like how the flecks of gold dance under the store lighting.
When my eyes meet hers in the glass, she scrunches her nose at me. “You’re totally digging it.”
“Fine, I’ll try it on but no promises.”
We walk the clothes in our arms—the gold dress for me and a navy one for her—to the dressing rooms in the back, each taking a stall and placing the hanger on the knob on the wall.
I’m slipping out of my yoga pants as she calls over, “How many words did you get in? Are you making the end-of-the-week deadline that Wendy gave you?”
While I’m nowhere near ready to submit a story to my agent, I am feeling better. Last night, I came home and wrote the most intense love scene, where my hero laid the heroine down on a white sheet, painted her naked body from head to toe like she was a living canvas, and then ravaged her with passion. It was hot, sweet, angsty, and damn … it left me turned the hell on.
I might not know how my characters got to that moment, but at least now, I know where they need to get to.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you! Remember how my neighbor, Jake, suggested making Tanner an artist? One of his friends runs this place where couples paint each other, and he took me there last night, so I could experience it firsthand. I finally have my character, and it all makes sense that he was such an enigma because he’s a moody artist.”
When she doesn’t respond, I pause and listen to see if she’s still in the dressing stall next to me.
“You okay in there?” I ask.
There’s some slight ruffling, and then the curtain to my dressing room is pushed open, making me cover my near-naked body with the gold dress. Charisse, on the other hand, is standing there like a madwoman in the navy-blue dress with a stunned expression and her mouth agape.
“You went body-painting with Jake?” she exclaims with wide eyes. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
I roll my eyes and go back to taking my dress off the hanger. “It was no big deal. His friend owns the place.”
“Yeah, but did he actually paint you?”
I try to fight the grin that instantly comes back from the memory because I know she’ll read more into it than it was. Shoot, even I started to read more into it, but how we stand was made very clear in the way he said good-bye at his door, like we had just happened to enter the building at the same time and didn’t just have our hands all over each other.
I close the curtain with a huff. “Yes, I let him paint me but only after I painted him.”
“And …” she says, her voice rising in anticipation.
“And what?” I step into the gold dress and slide my arms through the sleeves. “It was fun. You and Melody should definitely try it. I’ll watch Aubrey for you.”
“Because that’s a place where couples go.”
I slide the curtain open and give her my back to zip me up. “No, it’s where people of all relationships go to experience something new.”
When I turn toward her, she gives me her back, so I can zip her. “Great. You and I can go then.”
“I’m not painting you.”
With her dress fastened, she spins around with a grin. “Thank you for proving my point. So, is there something going on between you two?” Her shoulders shimmy back and forth as the grin grows on her face.
“You know nothing’s going on between Jake and me. That’s like Neighboring 101. The dos and don’ts of living next to each other. He was just helping since he knew I was stuck.”
“Okay, well, that’s actually good because we told Tommy you wanted to go on a date with him.”
Now, it’s my turn to look like a madwoman. “Charisse! You didn’t!”
She grabs my shoulders and pushes me toward the large three-paned mirror at the end of the room, where we can see our outfits from all angles.
“Come on, Lacey. He’s super cute, and I think you two will totally hit it off. Plus, you need somewhere to go in this hot little number.”
The dress clings to me like a second skin.
I like how the sleeves are long, giving the attention to the plunging neckline. The hem is short but not quite as short as it seemed on the hanger. It falls mid-thigh, which actually makes my legs look long and lean.
“I do like the dress, but I’m not going on a blind date.”
With her hands on my shoulders, she gives me a knowing expression. “Your body deserves to go out in this dress. Your feet deserve to wear those Christian Louboutins you bought last year and have only worn once. And your heart really, really deserves for you to get out and laugh with a handsome man over drinks and witty conversation.”
I hate the look she’s giving me. It’s the kind a concerned mother gives her daughter. I know she makes a solid point. The dress is cute, and I do love those shoes. And if I’m being totally honest with myself, it was nice to have Jake’s hands on me last night. Maybe I am ready to get back out in the dating world and meet Tommy the accountant.
Of course, there’s always the chance he could up and leave and break my heart.
“Stop thinking about how the relationship can go wrong before you even go on a date with the guy.”
My best friend really does know me too well.
“What kind of romance writer are you if you won’t give romance a chance for yourself?”
I waver for a bit before throwing in the towel. “Fine. Give him my number.” I sigh. “But I’m only promising one date.”
“Good, because Melody already texted him, and he’ll be calling you tonight.”
She runs toward her dressing stall, and I laugh, chasing after her.
Tommy called last night, and he actually didn’t sound too bad. He was polite, made some jokes about being set up on a blind date, and even asked me where I would like to go. My jittery nerves are at bay as I get ready now for our date.
I slip on my new gold dress and pull my hair half up with big curls in the back. After applying mascara, some neutral eye shadow, and rouge to my cheeks, I glide on a light gloss and take one last glance in the mirror as I hear a knock on my door.
He’s a few minutes early, so I hop as I try to walk to the front, putting on a shoe at the same time.
“One sec!”
When I open the door, I’m taken aback when I see the man standing in the hallway.
Jake is here, looking handsome in slacks and a button-down, his hands behind his back. His blond hair is styled back to perfection, making his masculine features even more pronounced. While he appears just as gorgeous as always, it’s the slight tilt of his mouth and the lustful gaze in his eyes that catch me off guard.
“Wow,” he breathes. “I was just coming over to see if you had any cherries, but damn, you look—”
“Too much? Like I’m trying too hard? A prostitute from a bad ’90s movie?”
“Hot.” The word is said like no truer word has ever been spoken.
I grin shyly. “Oh. Well, thank you.”
“Where are you going?” He steps into my apartment, and I close the door behind him and take a seat at my table to fasten my shoe.
“I have a date,” I say, fixing the buckle.
When I look back up, I notice the bouquet of purple flowers he must have had behind his back as he drops the flowers to his side.
“You. Have a date?” His voice does nothing to hide his shock.
“Yes. Don’t sound so surprised. Nice flowers, by the way.”
He sets them on my counter. “We had a shipment of lilacs come in, and I thought you’d like them.”
I rise from my seat and pick up the bouquet. “You brought these for me? Really? That’s so sweet of you.” Leaning forward, I inhale their scent and close my eyes. “You are so lucky you get to work with fresh flowers all day. It must be euphoric.”
With the bouquet in my hands, I walk past him and into the kitchen to grab a vase.
He turns around and follows me. “Yeah, it’s nice. Now, back to your date. Who is he?”
“My friends, Charisse and Melody—you remember Charisse. You met the day of my signing. They set it up.”
“A blind date?” He sounds relieved. “That makes sense.”
“How so?”
“We’ve already established you don’t date.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
I’m opening the bouquet while simultaneously filling the vase up with water when Jake takes the space next to me.
“Wait. You should only use room temperature water. The stems are very delicate. Do you have cutting shears?”
With a furrowed brow, I search around the kitchen and find my scissors from the knife block. “Will these work?”
He grins. “They’ll do just fine.”
I watch as he unwraps the cellophane and tissue paper and puts them in the trash before cutting the rubber band holding the stems together. He moves the now-filled vase to the counter but leaves the water running.
“The trick is to cut the stems at a forty-five-degree angle to increase the surface area of the water intake.” He delicately holds each stem under the water and carefully cuts. “Cutting under the faucet helps prevent air bubbles that block the stem from taking in the water. Add one of the flower packets to the water.”
I do as he said and watch as the white substance dissolves. “This seems like an awful lot of work for something that is going to eventually die.”
“Even though you know they won’t last, it’s important to enjoy them for as long as possible.”
I let out a light laugh. “Sounds like most of my relationships.”
He’s not laughing back. “You’re just in the wrong ones.”
The intense smolder in his stare makes my breath hitch. I’m trying to think of something witty to reply with, but the knock at the door gets my attention.
Once I get to the door, I grab the handle, stopping to take a breath before opening it.
“You must be Lacey.” A man with a buzz cut and hazel eyes holds up a small bouquet of flowers.
“And you must be Tommy.” I take the flowers from him and usher him inside. “Come in.”
He enters my apartment and stops short when he sees Jake putting flowers in the vase. Compared to the vibrant lilacs, his bouquet of closed-bud roses look sad.
“Oh. Hello,” Tommy says.
“Sorry, this is my—”
“Hi, I’m Jake, Lacey’s friend. I live next door.” Jake walks over with an outstretched hand and a big smile, putting Tommy at ease. “You got our girl roses. That’s great. Here, let me take those.”
I hand my bouquet to Jake and watch as he starts unwrapping them from the package.
“He’s a florist,” I explain to my date, who seems confused by the man in my kitchen.
“That’s cool,” Tommy says, placing his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know a thing about flowers. The ladies at the store helped me pick those out. It’s not often you find a guy in one of those places.”
Jake’s smile grows even wider. “They certainly made sure you didn’t overspend. You don’t know how often I get guys in my flower shop who want to buy the long-stemmed roses to impress a girl, but then most decide they don’t want to spend that much even though the quality is superior than you’ll find elsewhere. So, they go to the corner store and get ones like these”—he looks at the bouquet as if the short-stemmed roses offended him—“which won’t last long. But you get what you pay for, right?”
I squint my eyes at Jake and tell him to cut the act and then look to Tommy, who doesn’t seem thrilled by Jake’s presence or his rhetoric.
“I think they’re beautiful and very sweet.” I smile at Tommy. “Thank you. Shall we go?”
“Sure.” Tommy turns away from Jake. “I hope you like the restaurant I chose.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great. I don’t get out much.” I reach for my purse.
He takes in my ensemble, eyeing me up and down, and lets out a whistle. “You should. You look amazing. Charisse played down your beauty for sure.”
Jake starts coughin
g, and we turn to see him putting his bouquet of lilacs in the center of my table.
“Lock the door before you leave?” I ask him as we step out of the apartment.
Jake walks us out and waves from my doorway. “You two have a great night. And don’t eat Brussels sprouts. They make you gassy. But get crazy with the garlic. It makes everything taste better.”
I ignore Jake as Tommy and I get in the elevator. I watch as the doors close on his proud-dad stance in the middle of the hallway, waving like he’s sending his kid off to prom.
We make our way to Tommy’s car, where he opens my door for me. I know it’s been years since I’ve been on a first date, but I don’t even think Michael ever did that for me. It makes me wonder if I’ve ever had one of my heroes open a door for his girl. I definitely should.
I sit in the passenger seat and see he has a garter belt hanging from his rearview mirror. I squint my eyes as I take in the white lace with a blue ribbon strung through it.
Tommy gets in the car, and when he starts it, music blasts the new Lady Gaga song through the speakers. To my surprise, he doesn’t turn it down. Instead, he nods at me with a grin as he backs out of the parking space and drives.
When we pull up to the restaurant, he puts the car in park and doesn’t say a word. He exits the car and jogs around to open my door. He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me inside. The gesture should be simple, but his hand on my back is like a heavy weight. Instead of it feeling natural, it’s like I can’t do anything but want to cringe with his hand on me.
When we get inside, I step away from him.
“Okay then,” I hear him whisper under his breath.
The hostess greets us. “Reservations?”
“Yes, under Thomas Cosgrove. I reserved the corner booth.”
“Actually …” I interrupt the two of them and point toward the upscale bar area. It has cool blue mood lighting and a hip vibe. Plus, it’s not the corner booth. “Can we order from the bar?”
“Of course. I’ll set you up in there.”
The waitress leads us toward a high-top in the bar area. It’s not the actual bar, but it’s still a private table with high-back leather stools and ambient lighting. She hands us menus and says a waiter will be by shortly to take our drink order.