Page 15 of The Last Good Man

And then I read Thomas’ reply.

‘Melody?’

“Melody?” the man in front of me singsongs while reading Thomas’ message. “You left the guy hanging?” he comments, pushing my reply into the ether with a firm tap on the screen.

“Hey. Hey… This is unacceptable,” I bark, fighting to get my phone.

Some cute struggle ensues, confirming this man is much younger than me despite his manly appearance.

We tease the hell out of each other, with him refusing to hand me my phone and me insisting on fighting him instead of reasoning with him.

Neither wants to admit it, but we’re both having fun doing it.

The more I wrestle to get my phone, the more I lean into his chest and realize how much I like it.

He smells like smoke, icy fresh mint, and dark, long nights between cold sheets––so different than the delicate notes of jasmine, roses, bergamot, and ripe lemons coating my skin.

And then it comes.

“You smell good, baby…” he murmurs, his lips inches away from mine, his breath threaded through my hair.

He buries his nose in my locks and inhales as if the story of my life is buried in my tresses.

My quiver doesn’t go unnoticed.

He lowers his head, smiling as I freeze in place.

“Your skin smells even better,” he says before dragging his breath over my neck, all the way to my shoulder, where my warm skin gives him a pretty good idea of how I smell naked.

As if my stiffness is not awkward enough, he straightens his back, grips my chin, and tips my face up so he can look into my eyes.

I’m a little mouse in front of a bigbadcat, and everything I’ve used in my life, at work, in the boardroom, or even when going out on dates, vanishes from my head.

“Why are you seeing a shrink?” he asks.

“She’s not a shrink,” I retort, earning a slow, knowing smile as he tilts his head softly, studying me with amused eyes.

“She is a qualified professional who offers help for people like me,” I say.

“People who can’t deal with people like Thomas.”

“It’s not about him,” I say, resolute, yet short on breath and gravely aggravated.

Lowering his eyelids, he narrows his eyes in quiet disagreement as he magnanimously lets it slide.

His sexy bottom lip is crushed under the edge of his teeth again while he examines my body with unwavering focus.

“It’s your first fuck with him…” he says dryly, and my lips curl fast and furiously to put some doubt in him.

His thumb is quicker than my mouth, sealing my lips and making me turn to stone.

He is so close with his unmistakable masculine smell that my pulse becomes erratic.

The sensation of danger morphs into a delicious storm of delight, fear of the unknown, and an unsettling premonition thatthis manis destined toplay animportantrole in my life.

Musteringsomecourage, I bring my hand to his wrist before he releases my lips and allows me to speak.

“It’s not my first fuck with him,” I say with the candor of a liar.

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