“I have lots of goals, Easton.” Her cool voice borders on badass. She has so many layers and I’d like to peel away all of them and see what’s underneath.
Ideally, I’d peel off her black lace lingerie too.
Just a hunch, but I’d bet a grand she wears black lace against her creamy pale skin. Lace I want to rip off with my teeth.
Tonight.
“I bet you do have goals. Your focus is razor sharp. Your commitment to the end game is nothing less than masterful.” Enjoying the turned tables, I lean closer, run my fingers along the curls of her chestnut hair. Her breath catches. Yessss. “So much was hidden under the costume,” I muse.
She presses her lips together, like she’s swallowing that hitch, then she answers, “Isn’t that the point of a costume? To play?”
“Oh, you played formidably,” I say.
With a proud smile, she squares her shoulders, a move that accentuates her tits. I don’t even pretend to look away. Fuck gentlemanliness. Her breasts command the audience of my eyes.
“I appreciate the compliment,” she says. “Especially since it was a bit of a risk, playing you like a cello.”
I laugh, tossing my head back. “I don’t believe I’ve been compared to a musical instrument before. Are you a master cellist?”
“No. I was only good enough to play in college orchestra.” She sighs wistfully. “Alas, I set the big boy aside and found new dreams.”
Something I know all too well. “So, I was your cello, and you plucked my strings that night,” I say. “And are you glad you did?” I lower my voice to a bedroom whisper. “You’re here, after all.”
And I bet she came for me.
She swallows roughly, her eyes flickering with heat for a few seconds. “I’m here because there are things I want from you.”
Oh, yes. She wants to finish what I started. She regrets walking away. I won’t even tease her about that.
Except with my tongue.
Now we’re getting somewhere. But I don’t want to be there just yet. The chase is half the fun. So, I retrace my steps to the night we met. “Before we talk about wants, allow me to say how utterly impressed I was that you played me with the flirting, and the kiss, and the pool just to say don’t fuck with me. That was gold-medal worthy.”
She ducks her head, perhaps hiding a small smile. “It wasn’t entirely a hardship,” she says, then sets down the empty glass. “But now I’d like to cut through the bullshit. We can play this game all night. As fun as it may be, there’s something in particular I want. I host the podcast A Million Frogs.”
Oh. Okay. We’re done flirting.
But didn’t she mention that phrase the other night? “A Million Frogs. Were you dropping a clue the night we met? Were you hoping I’d pick it up and figure out who you are?”
“Did you pick it up?”
“No, I didn’t. Shame, that.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t trying to drop a hint. I truly didn’t know who you were then. But I already had my invitation for tonight and I was planning to come.”
My eyebrows rise on that last word. “One of my favorite verbs.”
Bellamy doesn’t take the bait. She soldiers on. “Because I wanted to ask you a question.”
I motion for her to go on. “You have my undivided attention.”
“I’d like to do a profile on you and your parties for my podcast.”
Huh. That wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d figured she was angling for me. Or, on the off chance she wasn’t, she was itching to meet some other guy tonight. I strip away all the veneer of teasing. “Is that why you were talking to me at The Lucky Spot? To ask to cover me?”
“No. Like I said, I had no idea who you were then—just like you knew nothing about me.”
Quickly, I find my footing again. “The fact that you kissed me for the sake of a charity donation demonstrates a bit about who you are,” I say. “Doesn’t it?”
Her brow pulls. “What does that tell you?”
Lifting the glass, I swallow the remainder of my martini, then set it down with a clink. “It tells me that you have a good heart . . . and the soul of a black cat.”
She grins. “Meow.”
“So, you want to interview me for a profile,” I say, adjusting fully to her reasons at last. Too bad they don’t align with mine, but so it goes. As Spencer would say, life hands you lemons and you make lemonade. “Why not just email me? I’m not that hard to track down.”
She casts her gaze to the throng of people mingling and meeting around us. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t a charlatan. If I did a profile on you without seeing this with my own two eyes, you’d be able to hoodwink me.”