Some Like It Hotter (Sweet Life in Seattle #3) (17 page)

“A couple years, plus I’ll have to get my teaching certificate.”

“That’s not too bad.”

“I’ll still be an artist, but it won’t be my only gig.”

“What about poker?”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she sits up and, to his astonishment, reaches down and pulls her top off. She’s still facing away from him as she lies back down on her stomach again.

“There,” she murmurs. “That should make it easier.”

His head swims as he stares at her naked back.
Easier for who?
He swallows hard and tries to calm his lust. His eyes have adjusted to the dark room, and her skin is milky in the light coming through the window.

There are tattoos on her back. He already noticed the one on her right shoulder. It’s written in a simple script and says, ‘We make our own luck.’ There’s a lotus flower on her left shoulder and then down near the center of her back, there’s an elaborate Queen of Hearts playing card. His fingers go to it, tracing the design. In truth, he has mixed feelings about tattoos, especially when a woman has skin this beautiful. In his professional experience, most people want to remove them.

“Does your Queen of Hearts have special meaning?” he asks, still tracing his fingers over it.

“Strength,” she murmurs. “And that I own myself, my own heart.”

Giovanni nods, taking this in. He wants to taste her—badly. Finally, he can’t resist any longer and leans over, putting his mouth to her smooth skin. He drags his chin, rough with stubble, over the center of the tattoo and is rewarded with a breathy moan from Lindsay.

Taking that as a sign, his hands slide down to grasp her hips. She lifts slightly though and turns, looking at him over her shoulder. “What are you doing? Get back to work.”

He chuckles, despite the need pulsing through him. His erection aching and heavy.

When he starts rubbing her back again, she lies down and sighs some more. His breath is becoming erratic. He wants to stop this lust, but it’s like a train run off its rails. He keeps stroking her for a little while, trying to convince himself he can enjoy the feel of her skin without wanting more.

But he does want more. A lot more. He wants to lose himself in her. He
needs
it. It’s the one thing that will help. He nearly gave in to it earlier—God, he wanted her so badly—but that was before she agreed to marry him.

Now he knows he can’t use her like that.

Finally, he stops touching her, pulls away, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go into the bathroom and take care of this himself. It won’t really fix it, but it’s better than nothing.

Lindsay sits up too. “I think the last time a guy seduced me with a back rub was high school,” she jokes.

He doesn’t respond. He wants to joke, but he’s far past it.
Guess I really am humorless.

“Hey.” Her voice softens. “Is everything all right?”

He’s sitting with his head bent down, forearms resting on his thighs as he tries to gain control over himself. He feels like the worst kind of asshole. He should be comforting her after what she’s been through today.
But it turns out I need some comforting of my own
.

She runs her hand down his back and he closes his eyes.

“It’s best if you don’t touch me,” he tells her roughly.

Of course, she doesn’t listen. When does she ever? Instead, she scoots closer until he senses her right beside him.

He swallows. “Listen, Lindsay. You should stay away from me. Let’s not turn this into something it’s not.”

“That’s what my sister told me, that I should stay away from you. She said she’d heard stories about you from Anthony.”

His brows go up. He should be more surprised than he is, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even have to ask what she’s heard. “The stories are true.” He licks his lips, and when he speaks, his voice sounds guttural. “The fact is I’m not always a good man.”

She grows still. “Why do you say that?”

He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even know how to explain it to her.

“Is it the reason you left me alone in that hotel room after we slept together?” There’s an edge to her voice, and he turns to look at her. She’s naked from the waist up, and he can’t stop himself from being mesmerized.

“Yes.” He turns his head away. “That’s why.”

“I was pissed at you for that. In a way, I still am.”

“You should be. I told you before, I’m an arrogant prick.”

For some reason, she’s stroking his back again. It feels so good he knows he shouldn’t stay. He needs to get up, needs to leave this room.

“Tell me why. Is it because you feel trapped?” she asks.

His eyes go to hers. It’s dark, but they can see each other well enough. “No, that’s not it.” And so, against his better judgment, he tries to explain it to her. He explains how, when you live on an adrenaline high for a long time, it can be difficult to come down. “It’s different for everyone,” he tells her. “Some people smoke or drink. They’ll use something artificial to get back to their baseline.”

“What do you use?”

He doesn’t want to admit it—not to her, not to anyone. He’s never admitted it because he’s too ashamed. “I think you already know,” he croaks. His eyes find hers again and, to her credit, she doesn’t look away. There’s comprehension dawning on her face though.

“It’s
women
, isn’t it?”

He nods. "It is."

Lindsay pulls her hand away and stops stroking the taut muscles of Giovanni’s back. She knows she should listen to him, should stay away. He’s right about that.

Too many women fall into the trap of thinking they can fix a man. Her own philosophy has always been that it’s better to find one who doesn’t need fixing.

Yet, here she is, wavering, ready to swim in that ocean.

It’s his genuine smile from earlier, the way it moved her. And those butterflies. Nobody has affected her like this in a long time, and she senses he’s more than a match for her.

She thinks about how much it takes to bring a man like Giovanni to his knees.
A lot. It would take a lot.
He must have been pushing himself in ways that were inhuman.

It doesn’t change anything about what he’s just admitted though.

“It’s wrong, what you’re doing,” she tells him. “Using women like some kind of sexual vampire.”

“You think I don’t know that? For years, I’ve been telling myself it’s no big deal.” He lets out his breath. “But I know it’s despicable.”

“You need to stop that shit.”

He snorts. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Have you ever paid for it?”

“No, of course not.”

She watches him closely to see if he’s lying. “Why not?”

He smirks without humor. “Despite my apparent undesirability on the marriage market, I’ve never had any trouble finding bed partners.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to pay someone?” She’s still watching him. If he sleeps with hookers, then that’s it for her. Game over.

“I’ve known women who were prostitutes and the abuse that brought them there.” He shakes his head. “I could never be a part of that.”

“Not all women who do it are abused.”

“I worked at a strip club years ago, and a lot of the girls prostituted themselves on the side. I saw enough to know it’s not a profession anyone chooses because they enjoy it.”

Lindsay is still processing his words. “You worked in a strip club doing what?”

“I was a bouncer.”

So it’s true what he told Dagmar. But at a strip club? It sounds bizarre and out of character for him.
“How old were you?”

“Twenty-one. I dropped out of college for a while. It was right after—” He stops talking abruptly. “Forget it.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t a good time in my life. That’s all.”

“Did you sleep with the strippers?”

“No, I just told you.”

She tries to imagine Giovanni at twenty-one. Handsome, cocky, and probably irresistible. “I doubt they would have charged you anyway.”

“It didn’t matter. I wasn’t interested in any of them.” He grows quiet. “That’s all in the past now. It was a long time ago.”

Lindsay wants to hear the rest of this story, but there’s finality in his tone, and she already knows how difficult it is to get information out of him when he doesn’t want to give it.

He’s still quiet. The discussion must have brought up bad memories for him.

“When you first mentioned working in a strip club, I thought maybe you were a dancer,” she teases, hoping to lighten his mood.

His eyes flash to hers. “What?”

Giovanni’s a big guy, and graceful too, but she can’t picture him dancing. She remembers how they first met at an after-party that had a DJ, how he stood off to the side with his hands tucked into the front of his jeans, watching her dance.

“You know, like those ‘Thunder from Down Under’ guys.”

His eyes widen. “You’re kidding. You thought I
danced?
”

“Sure, why not? You have a great body.”

And then, to her surprise, he bursts out laughing. Full on laughter like she’s never heard from him before. It’s infectious, and she can’t stop from laughing too.

“Jesus, you have no idea . . .” He finally calms down, wiping his eyes. “Try to picture Frankenstein’s monster having a seizure. Because that’s what I look like when I dance.”

“Really?” Lindsay laughs some more. “Sounds kind of hot.”

“It’s mostly disturbing. People usually think I need medical attention.”

“Come on, I can’t believe it’s that bad. You have such a graceful walk.”

“Yes, thank God I can handle
walking
,
at least.”

“Does that mean you won’t dance for
me
?” She allows her voice to take on a seductive note.

He hears it too. She sees how his body stills, the way his eyes go to hers.

She’s already made the decision. It was up for debate when she came here tonight, but now it’s certain. Seeing her fox on his nightstand was the first thing that swayed her. Then it was the way his hands felt on her skin, the warmth of them burning through all the stress of the day until there was nothing left but ashes.

That’s why she pulled her top off.

So, despite everything—the warning bells clanging in her ears, the crazy shit he just admitted to her about himself—she’s diving into those waters again.

He shakes his head. “We both know this is a bad idea. You don’t want this. Not really.”

“But I do.”

“You’d let me use you like that?”

She wonders who’s using who though. “Despite your overbearing personality, I happen to find you very sexy. I even fantasized about you.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I used you as vibrator fodder.”

“Is that so?” he murmurs. His voice has grown huskier, and she can tell his body is onboard even if his brain hasn’t caught up yet. “You may have to explain what that means in more detail.”

“I could do that.” She slides her hand down his back, stroking him again, watching as he closes his eyes. “Have you fantasized about me at all?”

“Too many times to count.”

She figured he had, but it’s always nice to hear these things. “What’s your favorite fantasy about me?”

He opens his eyes, his expression thoughtful. “What am I going to do with you?”