Page 12 of Tempting Him

I shake my head and take a bite, focusing on the TV for a couple minutes. “How old are you? Can I guess?”

His brows raise marginally, my only clue that he’s sayinggo ahead.

“Hmm.” I sit back and study him. He’s got a couple lines in his forehead and around his mouth. I thought they called those laugh lines, but I’m not sure this man has laughed enough in his life to have them. They’re far from wrinkles however. His skin looks smooth and well taken care of. Looking at him, you can tell he’s seasoned, but yet still holds a youthful glow. “Thirty-nine?”

Once again, his eyebrows go up, but I can’t tell if it’s surprise that I’m right, disbelief that I thought he was that old, or shock because he’s actually older.

“Does it matter?” he finally says.

“I guess not. I’d fuck you if you were fifty. You’re pretty fucking sexy.”

His lips twitch. “And you? Can I guess?”

I swipe my thumb over my bottom lip after taking a bite. Once I’m done chewing, I smile at him. “Please do. I’d love to hear it.”

After a brief onceover, he says, “Twenty-six.”

I cough out a laugh. “Nope.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Once you tell me how old you are.”

“You’re stubborn,” he says, reaching for his glass of water.

“Me?” I laugh. “Pot, meet kettle.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not stubborn.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I’m strong-willed.”

“Uh, sir, I believe that’s a synonym of stubborn. Just like uncompromising and bull-headed.”

He sits back on the couch, the robe exposing his thigh. I have to rip my gaze away because I could definitely go for another round.

“So, Aleksander,” I say. “Do you go by Alex?”

“No. Alek. It’s Bulgarian, so it’s not Alexander with an x, but with a ks.”

“I see. So, you’re Bulgarian?”

“And Greek.”

I nod my head. “Cool.” After a pause, I say, “ I’m Black.”

He smirks, the tiniest of laughs slipping between his lips.

With a chuckle, I say, “I know I probably didn’t have to say that, but you shared, so I felt I should share.”

“Want to share your age?” he asks again.

“Do you?”

With a sigh, he says, “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. But what does matter is that the sun will come up in,” I pause to look at the time on my phone, “about four and a half hours, and since you plan on kicking me out, we shouldn’t waste any time. Unless you want to change your mind,” I say, waggling my brows.

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