Page 11 of Twisted Little Thing

His facial expression has changed after we part. He moves back slowly, his hand still on my cheek and his eyes lasered in on mine. But again, there is no triumphant smile. No sign of a predator who is joyous about the fact that he succeeded in capturing his prey.

His face shows nothing but disbelief.

"Nicky," I blurt out. "My name is Nicky."

I instantly feel sorry for disturbing the beautiful silence that has marked the most intimate moment I have shared with anybody in a long time. But it felt right. It was this kiss which finally convinced me that he has a right to know my name. My real name.

He stares at me with that same disbelieving expression he portrayed directly after our kiss ended, showing no reaction to what I have said.

"Is that your real name?"

I nod quietly.

He smiles and continues to caress my cheek with his thumb, gently and lovingly, as if I was the most precious being he has ever seen.

"Nice to meet you, Nicky," he whispers. "That is a cute name. Very fitting for a sparkling lady like you."

"I don't know about the 'lady' part," I say, trying to be funny. "But thank you."

"Now, Nicky," he says. "Do you trust me?"

I glance up at him. His face is stern now, concentrated.

"Why?" I ask.

"Would you trust me enough to come with me?" he explains. "To a place where we can be alone."

"Your place?"

He shakes his head. "Not exactly. A hotel."

I frown.

"I know," he says. "You are not used to this. You probably despise it. But do you think you could cast your ideals and your skepticism aside for tonight and just accept my invitation?"

I look at him, still frowning and pondering. He feels comfortable – but this invitation does not.

It's not the first time that something like this has happened. I’m no prude, and I do whatever I feel like, even when it’s not ladylike.

But I would insist on paying half of the room in these situations. And I would like to do that tonight, as well. The problem is that I am completely broke and shouldn't spend any more money tonight than I already have.

He looks at me, observing my inner struggle. The concern expressed on his gorgeous face appears to be real. I wish it was easier for me to trust people – and especially men. And I wish it was easier for me to love the gold digger lifestyle.

But I just can't.

"I'm sorry, I–"

"Nicky," he interrupts me. "Be a little crazy."

I look at him in confusion. "Crazy?"

"Yes," he insists. "From your perspective, considering my invitation to come with me to a hotel must be a crazy thing to do."

"Well, it's not like I haven't had one-night stands before, so–"

"That's not what I am talking about," he interrupts me again, shaking his head. "I am talking about accepting an invitation. Just like that. Without an inner struggle with your – highly admirable – ideals. When have you ever done that?"

I sigh and lift my hand to touch his hand that is still caressing my face. I take it and gently move it down, away from my cheek.

The disappointment I see on his face as I do almost breaks my heart. And it helps to vocalize my decision.

"You're right," I whisper. "That would be something new."

I smile at him. That smile widens as I see him smiling, too. A boyish smile that makes him look younger and even more insanely attractive.

"And I like new things," I add.

He laughs and shakes his head.

"I might have to punish you for being such a tease."

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