Page 13 of More Than Words

“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a rough whisper, and I licked my lips, swallowing again as I let my jaw relax. “Good girl. Here it comes.”

This was not how I expected spending my lunch today when I was rudely dragged out of my apartment this morning under duress. I thought Adrian would be a jerk on the car ride to Bar Harbor, and I’d be forced to sit in angry tension with him in the car for nearly five hours.

Three hours into our trip, and I was being taught how to eat oysters in a strangely erotic display of skill inside a building I’d thought was a murder shed.

As I held my breath, waiting for him to tip the oyster shell, my mouth suddenly flooded with a rush of savory flavors I wasn’t sure I could describe properly. I kept my eyes closed, doing as he said and savoring the tang of the oyster meat on my tongue. He was right. The oysters were delicious.

“One bite,” he instructed, taking the shell from my hand and lightly touching my chin with his finger, encouraging me to chew.

Another burst of flavor spread through my mouth; the rich nutty flavor mixed with the saltiness, causing me to groan as I bit down.

“Swallow,” Adrian coaxed as I opened my eyes, almost startled by the intensity of his gaze when they focused on his across the table. “Fuckin’ amazing, right?”

Nervously lifting my napkin, I dabbed at my wet lips, nodding. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he chuckled, grabbing another shell from the plate and quickly downing another before winking at me like the last two minutes hadn’t been some bizarre culinary foreplay. “Make sure to save room for that crumble. Rumor has it they make their cream fresh.”

And my mind plummeted back into the gutter at the other variety of fresh cream I knew watching Adrian teach me how to eat oysters had inspired. This unwanted physical attraction to him had become a nuisance once the dickish behavior was taken out of the picture. I had the feeling this trip would either cement my hatred—or at least major distaste—for him, or my physical attraction to him would turn into something else.

ADRIAN

Bar Harbor, ME

Five hours and forty minutes. Five fucking hours and forty minutes after we left Boston, I was pulling up to the parking lot at the hotel where the conference was being held with a semi in my pants and a raging attraction to the woman in my passenger seat.

I’d always thought that Isobel was gorgeous. Of course, I had, but I hadn’t realized how funny she was outside of staff meetings or when she was biting my head off for saying something stupid. She’d loosened up when we were throwing axes at a target, showing me a whole new side of herself, but this morning was surprisingly fun.

When we’d left her apartment, I’d thought the annoyed, sleepy grump would be a pain in the ass to ride in the car with for hours on end. But then she turned on a level of sass over croissant and coffee that I never imagined seeing. And I have to say, I appreciated her fire…more than I cared to admit. She was sarcastic and quick-witted, and I found my armor dropping as I engaged with her.

Isobel clearly didn’t know how to handle my teasing when it wasn’t mean-spirited or downright offensive, her posture changing to one of surprise at my unintentionally flirtatious comments. But then, when we stopped for lunch, and she’d continued the playful banter, I couldn’t help pouring on the charm.

I knew how to flirt with women with intention, and I knew I shouldn’t be doing it over a lunch that was technically being paid for by our publisher and was not a date, but her reactions made me want to tease her more and more.

The urge to lean down and kiss the back of her neck when I was helping her into her sweater before lunch had been strong, and it’d grown exponentially after all the innuendo while we were eating. She’d been a quick study in oyster eating protocol and had easily devoured the rest of her lunch, licking butter off her fingers from the lobster roll and moaning her way through the chowder. It was the sexiest display of food porn I’d ever witnessed firsthand. Isobel wasn’t afraid to eat, making me want to find more foods that brought out those little moans.

I’d been tempted to ask the server for a dessert to share, thinking there was no way Isobel could finish a blueberry crumble with all she’d eaten, but she’d hovered over that warm bowl like she was in prison, and I was going to shank her for it. I had to think of Pop’s wrinkly nutsack just to keep myself from getting hard as I watched her tongue dart out to lick the fresh cream from her lips. Correction—I had to think of that horrifying scene to stop myself from getting hard-er.

“Here we are,” I said, breaking the silence that’d settled in the car.

As I pulled up to the main entrance overhang, slowly depressing the brake and moving the car into park, I felt like this was a pivotal moment in this trip. Would she go back to not so secretly despising me once she had other people to spend her time with, or would we continue to build this tension between us until someone caved?

“Yup, here we are,” she murmured, looking down at her lap.

“You go on ahead to the check-in desk. I’ll bring in your bag,” I offered as I looked over at her fidgeting with the strap of her bag. She seemed to do that when she was angry or nervous, her fingers fixating on whatever was closest and mindlessly playing with it.

“I’m perfectly capable of rolling a small suitcase.”

“Not saying you aren’t, but if you go get the keys to your room while I’m parking the car, you won’t have to wait as long to escape me. It looks like people are starting to arrive.”

The parking lot was gradually filling, and I knew the place would be crawling with publishing industry professionals vying for each other’s attention in a few hours.

“Thank you for offering to drive up here,” she mumbled, taking a deep breath, her chest heaving before she slowly let it out. A few stray hairs had escaped from her ponytail, and I suddenly had the urge to tuck them behind her ear—or just rip the hair tie out of her hair and sink my fingers in. I clenched my hands in my lap, so I wasn’t tempted to touch her. I’d meant what I said to her the night of the team-building exercise that’d thrown us together. I didn’t want to kiss or touch her in a stolen moment or out of pity. I wanted her to desire my hands or lips on her, but I knew it was a long shot for that to happen. It was a good thing I possessed a fuck ton of patience. Either that, or I was delusionally hopeful.

“Just pop the trunk so I can grab it. Thank you for offering, but I’d like to get up to my room and unpack. I wanted to go over the schedule before tonight.”

And we were back to the professional behavior, our earlier teasing gone before I could fully appreciate it.

“If that’s what you want.”

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