Page 127 of Foreplay on Words

“Probably not,” I laughed, and Evan’s hand tightened on my knee as he chuckled too.

“Back to the hotel?” He asked with an arched eyebrow, and heat pooled between my legs. I knew exactly what his intentions were.

“Don’t get any ideas, mister.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He held up his free hand and turned on the faux innocence.

“Mmhmm. Could you keep it in your pants? We have enough time to grab food and get back to the room to get all dolled up, and that’s all.”

“You mean to get you all dolled up,” he clarified.

“Nope. They’ll attack you too.” He was about to be styled to within an inch of his life. I was willing to bet he’d never had his face lightly contoured or his nails manicured.

“Really?”

“Yup. They’ll send a whole team. The talent has to look flawless to work the room at the party,” I winked. “Romance is a whole different ballgame. We’re selling an image. And you know Sloane wants us to keep it sexy.”

“I look fine,” he pouted.

“You look amazing, baby, but you’re gonna have to sit back and let them do their thing.” He looked mighty fine, but if photographers were going to be there tonight, he needed to look polished and fine. “With the press being invited to the party, they want us to look good for pictures.”

“Fine, take me to my torture.”

We took his car back to the hotel, parking in the garage before we grabbed some food in the restaurant to take back to the suite rather than risk the delay waiting on room service.

“Are you sure we can’t...?” he asked as he tilted his head toward the bedroom.

“Save it for after. We’ve only got fifteen minutes,” I smiled. Knowing he was constantly thinking about sex now was hilarious compared to the shy man I met a few months ago who could barely look me in the eye the first day.

“I can work with that.” I knew he could, but then I’d need to shower again, and I’d be getting cursed out by the stylist for having wet hair.

“Oh, baby.” I rolled my eyes. “Just eat your food already.”

“Fine,” he snarked. “Suit yourself. Don’t come begging to me later when you’re desperate for my dick.”

“I’m sure I can control myself for a few hours.” Little did I know it’d be for more than just a few hours.

Chase

Boston

Evan was very charming with the team of stylists. He had all of them eating up every word he said. The stuttering, awkward man I met several months ago had come out of his shell.

“Am I pretty enough for you?” he asked, pulling me back into his chest while we rode the elevator down to the ballroom.

“You’re always pretty, baby.” I looked back at him over my shoulder and winked.

“I can’t wait to peel this dress off you later,” he whispered directly into my ear, his voice low.

I closed my eyes and relaxed into his embrace. I couldn’t wait for the end of the night either. “Promises, promises.”

“If there weren’t cameras in here.” He punctuated his suggestive remark by pressing his pelvis into me. He wasn’t hard, but I was sure he could get there quickly with a little coaxing. It was tempting, but our editors would murder us.

“You’ve gotten brave,” I giggled as his hand rubbed the material of my dress right below my breasts.

“You make me brave,” he whispered into my hair. “Are you sure I can do this?” I could hear the nerves appearing in his voice as we watched the elevator numbers count down as it neared the ground floor.

“You’ve come so far in the last few months. And you had those ladies and one very smitten gay man eating out of your hands earlier.”

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