Page 5 of Dream Girl Drama

She huffed her lips up into a half smile. Those blue eyes ran laps around his face, like she wanted to see inside of his head. Or maybe surprised to find that he was unexpected to her. And he liked that. He liked being something unknown for her, the way she seemed to be for him. “I think I might like to watch you play hockey sometime, Mister Gauthier.”

“Come to Boston. I’ll let you watch me do whatever you want.”

For long moments, she simply stared at him, as if trying to categorize or figure him out but not being able to quite do so. Eventually, her gaze drifted down to his mouth and hung out there, slowly meandering back up to make eye contact. “Is it very forward and extremely soon if I say I’m attracted to you?” she whispered.

“I’m only pissed I didn’t get to say it first.” At some point, they’d gravitated closer together on the couch. Though it was hard to say who’d made the move, their thighs were now pressed together, bodies turned slightly, his head tipping down toward hers from above. “I think I might like to watch you play the harp, Miss Clifford.”

“Well, we’re just a couple of people wanting to watch each other do things, aren’t we?”

“Looks that way.”

“I have somewhere to be tonight.”

His right eye twitched. “You got a boyfriend, Chlo?”

She pursed her lips. “Would you steal me away if I did?”

This was no time to lie. “In a heartbeat.”

Her pupils dilated, lips parting on a quiet laugh.

Briefly, her attention ticked left. “The bartender just left to get ice. I’m going to make my move on that bottle of champagne, because I feel myself on the verge of making impulsive decisions.”

Sig quirked a brow. “And the champagne is going to stop you?”

“No,” she breathed, rising fluidly to her feet. “It’s going to help me make excuses for my behavior.”

Bemused and horny and frankly, in awe, he watched her butt twitch the whole damn way to the bar, his cock turning stiff as a mallet in his jeans. Sig wanted desperately for this to be a wild, cosmic attraction thing. A lightning strike of lust. Because these unknown feelings of kismet and possessiveness and fascination that she’d inspired in him so quickly were scary as shit.

But Chloe turned at the bar and gave him a look of conspiratorial mischief and winked. Then, slick as a cat burglar, she draped herself soundlessly over the bar, reached down, and landed on her feet again with a bottle in hand, sticking her tongue out and making the universal symbol forrock on. And his heart lodged permanently behind his jugular.

This was more than lust at first sight.

He didn’t have a name for the alternative yet.

But the night was young, right?

Chapter Two

Maybe I’m dreaming.

She’d taken a line drive tennis ball to the forehead and the paramedics were loading her onto a stretcher right now. She wasn’treallysitting in the lounge with the most casually intense man she’d ever met in her life. It was all an illusion.

But when she sat back down beside him and the cool, ultrasmooth leather kissed the backs of her thighs and he draped his arm along the back of the couch behind her, the warm shiver that snaked all the way down to her toes was very real.

Who was this man?

He’d made it known that he was interested in her, likereallyinterested—and he did it without making her uncomfortable, which was not easy. At all. Especially considering his size. And hispresence. His rough-edged charisma took up the entire room, let alone the couch. When she’d watched him stride confidently toward the valet earlier and stop to acknowledge his fan, he’d literally frozen Chloe in her tracks. Sig had accepted those compliments from the valet without any false humility, just an air of security. In himself, his abilities, who he was.

This man had grown into himself.

Had only the tiniest speck of self-doubt. She’d glimpsed it in his eyes when he looked around at the lavish lounge. When he’d registered the luxury of the leather as he sat down. That touch of humility had been so small she almost missed it, but there wassomething extremely attractive about it. The fact that this self-assured person seemed to find her equally compelling... it made her feel awake. And secure.

Excited.

Also,my goodness, he was a smoke show.

Something about the way he wore a T-shirt suggested he took it off multiple times a day. In his bedroom, in the locker room, prior to collapsing into sleep at midnight. Clothed was not his natural state. A shirt was a formality. He was six feet, some odd inches of athletically honed muscle, thick in some places, trim in others, and there was a hint of cockiness about him that tended to turn her off in other men, but not this one.

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