Page 21 of Desperate Needs

“Clementine. What’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?”

“Oh, okay, if we are going to be honest with each other, I was just thinking that you’re interesting.”

“I’m interesting?” he parroted.

“Yeah. I mean, I think I could like you.”

“Yeah?” he asked and grinned.

“Yeah, but I wish I didn’t.”

“Why?”

His face fell and his mouth went hard, but he looked more curious than angry. I exhaled a breath and locked eyes with him.

Might as well.

“Because in my experience, men who look like you think women who look like me are just waiting for you to waltz in and fix everything you think is wrong with our lives.”

“What?” he asked, seemingly shocked.

“It’s not your fault, and I am not trying to make you pay for the sins of others. But you see, I’ve reason to be cautious. I dated someone for two years in college and the whole time, I didn’t realize he didn’t even like me. I was a sucker for his six-pack, and it took me a long time to understand he was slowly separating me from the things I liked and the people I loved just so he could make me over into his version of the right girl. And whereas I appreciate men with muscles, I’d rather date no one than have someone treat me like that again.”

“Who was he? What’s his name?” Connor growled, and he had his phone in hand.

“Oh my God, that’s not important.”

“I beg to differ?—”

“I’m not telling you that. My point is this, I don’t need you to change my diet or sign me up for Pilates, or cooking classes, all in some effort to make me into your idea of the perfect woman. Truth is, I don’t need anyone to fix my life. I like myself just fine. So if you have any notion like that in your handsome head, you can just turn this car around and take me back to my uncle’s house,” I blurted, shocked and appalled at how much I just revealed.

The inside of the vehicle felt tense and pregnant with emotion.

“Okay,” Connor said after a long, drawn out moment. “But for the record, this is how I feel about your appearance, Darlin’.”

Then he leaned over and cupped the back of my neck, drawing my face close enough for him to claim my lips in a hard, heavy kiss that was over way too quickly far as I was concerned.

Holy. Shit.

“Well, that was,” I whisper as he pulls away and straightens his jacket.

“It was, indeed.”

“Now that we’ve established that you’re not looking for a project or someone to fix, why are you taking me out?” I asked point blank.

“Because I want to, Darlin’. Because something about you just draws me in and I want to discover more. You’re so fucking pretty, Clementine. So perfect and good. I wanna make you dirty. I wanna see the real you without the silk and pearls. I wanna touch you. Taste you. Fuck you,” he growled in a voice so low it sent trembles rushing through me.

“But not until you’re ready,” he finished, straightening his shoulders and looking straight ahead. “So, we’ll start with dessert at Chez Paul and go from there,” he replied, and my whole body lit up like the fourth of July.

I couldn’t understand why a man like him wanted anything to do with me. I was certain he knew my people, which meant he was more than acquainted with what he was signing up for.

My sisters and cousins and I had more than our fair share of lousy dates.

It came with the territory of being heiresses and daughters of powerful men and women with a fuck-ton of money and clout.

That also meant anyone who fucked with us got fucked with back. Badly.

Connor knew all of that, and yet, he was still here. Still intent on taking me out.

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