Well, he just opened the door and there’s no backing out now. Stick to the script. “I’d like to know what your plans are for this whole marriage thing. How would it work, exactly?”
Maybe it’s my imagination because I’m nervous, but he appears way too calm. Like this is something he’s really committed to, not just some whim.
“I hadn’t really thought out all the details to be honest—I was going to work through it on the fly. How about this? You tell me what you’d need to make it work.”
Ah, good. The door is really wide open now. I set my glass on the side table and clasp my hands together. His thigh brushes against mine. My breath hitches and I momentarily forget what I was about to say. Did he move closer to me? Why is it so hot in here?
“I want a modeling contract for the length of the marriage, with the option to renew afterward if it’s mutually agreeable.” The words tumble out and my confidence feeds off of them. “And I want an active role in choosing the assignments that come my way, so I can decide which are best for me. Also, I’d like to be kept in the loop about Danica Rose—you know, like if the company is bouncing back the way you’re all hoping. Considering it’s my future on the line, too, I feel like I should know how the general health of the business is doing.”
He eyes me thoughtfully and I hope the blip of nerves I feel doesn’t show. Yes, I do want to know how DRM is doing. Another scandal could put me out of a job and seriously affect my future. But also, the more info I have in my back pocket to use at my disposal, the better. Insider information could pay off for me in the long run—though I don’t mention that to him.
“Anything else, Brooklyn?”
My confidence comes back as he moves along.
“I want to pick out my ring.”
It’s petty, I know, but if I’m doing this, I want it to be Instagram perfect. I’ve already started thinking about how I’d stage the ring on my hand, with a background at the Navy Pier botanical gardens, catching the flash of the diamond in just the right light.
Luka chuckles a little and spreads his hands. “Is that all?”
“I might think of something else, but those are the main requirements.”
It’s not my imagination; he did move closer. Our legs press firmly from knee to hip and he’s looking at me as if waiting for more. Should I have asked for something else? I scramble to think of something I missed, when his hand slides over mine and my brain ceases to think.
“You don’t have any conditions on when we get married, or where? No conditions on where we’ll live…or where we’ll sleep?” he asks.
Our eyes lock, and my nipples pull hard inside my thin bralette. His gaze drops there, my pulse rising as he spies the visible proof of my arousal. I can’t think like this.
“Um, maybe…maybe you could put some more clothes on,” I suggest.
He lets out a low, sexy laugh. I want to touch him so badly, have him flip me onto my back on the couch and cover me with every inch of that gorgeous body. I want to feel the length of his cock through his pants, grind up against him as I—
“On second thought,” I say, “go get dressed so we can take this conversation to the coffee shop down the street.”
“What’s the problem with discussing things here?” he asks. “It’s our chemistry, isn’t it?”
“It’s not that,” I lie. “I just think professional boundaries are a good idea.”
“You know, it helps that we’re attracted to each other,” he says. He reaches up his hand, trailing it across my cheek. I feel the sparks through my entire body. “That energy between us. That heat that makes your throat dry and your pussy wet.”
Clenching my thighs together, I uselessly attempt to hold back my desire. But my core is throbbing in the way it does only for Luka.
The one man who could completely ruin me.
I can’t let him sweet talk his way into my pants again. No. Modeling contract signed and delivered, then we’ll talk sex.
Luka dips his head to my ear, his hot breath washing over my skin. It’s like our first meeting all over again. “It’s good that you want to fuck me, Brooklyn. It’ll make our relationship look real.”
He takes my chin and tilts it up, and when our eyes lock, I start subconsciously leaning toward him, my lips parting almost without me realizing it.
Fuck, what am I doing?
I jump to my feet and cross my arms. “I was under the impression you needed to clean up your rep, not dirty it. It’s obvious this arrangement isn’t your main focus. Give me a call if you decide you’re ready to take this seriously. Until then, I’m out.”
Turning away, I grab my purse and storm out of the apartment.
As the elevator doors close me in, I slump against the wall and try to catch my breath.
I did it. I stood up for myself. Great.
But I still fucking want him.
Brooklyn
Chapter 9
The little black dress I’m wearing drapes perfectly over my body, the deep V in the front showing off my cleavage. The hem falls to mid-thigh, and the sparkling silver heels I plan to wear will make my legs look killer.
Mateo is taking me out tonight, and even though I’m not really feeling it, trying on outfits is getting me in the mood. I’m going to sip a couple of cocktails and watch my bestie flirt his way into some unsuspecting man or woman’s pants, and likely, I’ll be taking a cab home. Alone. At least one of us will be having some fun.
I give myself a once-over in the mirror, debating how to do my makeup. My hair is still wet from the shower, and I’m not sure what to do with that, either. Up or down? Straight or curls? Rubbing some hair oil between my palms, I just start to apply it to my ends when the doorbell rings. Mateo is still in the shower, so I wipe the oil onto a towel and go to the door.
It’s Luka.
I take a step back as his tall body takes up the door frame. He’s perfectly dressed in a black suit and matching dress shirt with a subtle pattern on it, a pale green tie catching the color of his eyes. His hands are in his pockets, his stance nonchalant, as if he’s got all the time in the world and swinging by was a spur-of-the-moment decision.
I swallow hard and clutch the door as his cologne hits me like catnip.
“Hi,” I finally manage. “What are you doing here?”
He’s not looking at me. Not at my face anyway. He’s feasting on my body, working his gaze by increments from my legs to my lips. His hands twitch inside his pockets, and his arms tense as if he’s holding back from reaching for me. Finally, he meets my eyes.
“I may have been a little forward yesterday,” he admits. “It’s no excuse, but I guess I’m still learning how to deal with women in a context outside of the bedroom.”
I put one hand on my hip and open the door wider. “It shows. Come in.”
He wanders into the apartment and I lead him to the living room. He’s on my turf this time—it gives me a sense of power. I gesture for him to sit on the sofa and he does.
“Before you say anything else,” I tell him, “I’ve given it some thought, and you were right—I wasn’t asking for enough. There are a few more things I’d need.”