Page 6 of A Secret and a Lie
The corner of his lips quirks, and he slants his head in my direction. “I don’t.”
I tilt my head right back. “Why’s that?”
“I suppose I’m pretty par for the course of D.C. I don’t date much. I don’t have the time. I’m not interested in playing asinine games or choking a woman out when I take her to bed. I’m just…average.”
Another real, hearty laugh leaves me, one that has my entire body tingling with joy. There’s so much to unpack with that statement. “If you think the rest of Washington isn’t playingasinine games, you’re incredibly dense. Secondly, there’s nothing wrong with a little choking among consenting adults. Which brings me to my next question: are you really? Average, I mean.”
There’s nothing ordinary about this man. How manyaverageguys jump straight to breath play?
“Probably.” His answer is low, wafting over the rim of his glass as he lifts it to his lips, his eyes searching mine in a way that makes me wonder if that’s a lie.
“I respect that—a man who knows exactly what he is and doesn’t try to be something he’s not. Authenticity is rare in this city.”
Leaning just a little bit closer, he smirks, the sinful expression dampening my panties. “Says the woman who’s anything but average.”
Maybe it’s his words, or maybe it’s the hypnotic sound of his smoky voice uttering them, but either way, this man is lethal to the dominion I have over my libido.
Ford
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the exquisite creature next to me reach for her handbag, rustling inside before pulling out some bills and leaving them on the bar. She slips off the stool gracefully, squeezing past me, leaving a faint scent of cherry blossoms in her wake.
Don’t abandon me here, alone with my thoughts.
She’s a rare find, like sparkly painite hidden deep within the earth.
“Thank you for the conversation this evening,” she purrs. Her sultry voice made of strings of luxurious silk wraps around the base of my hard cock.
“Ford,” I supply, offering this stranger an anchor of truth.
Her full red lips part, revealing her cunning smile as the delicate apples of her cheeks round further. “Genevieve.”
She’s truly the perfect specimen; the kind of beautiful that some scientist somewhere might want to study, while a modeling agency would kill to have her in their portfolio. A well-defined Cupid’s bow draws me in, imploring me to run my finger through the divot there. Her elegant, feminine facial features are perfectly proportionate to her head, with round, almond-shaped eyes, and a halo of short, platinum-blonde hair that gives her a sleek, angelic appearance. Contrary to her appearance, something about this woman says thatshe’s zero percent saint, one hundred percent sinner, one oozing sexual magnetism.
“Perhaps I’ll see you around, Genevieve.”
We stare at each other for a moment, the air sizzling with something white-hot, like lightning building within an epic thunder cloud. And while I haven’t experienced this sensation in ages, I have no doubt that it’ll shock me to death in the same manner it did all those years ago.
I’m certain that I’ll once again find myself addicted to the intoxicating electric jolt.
Her hazel eyes narrow marginally as she studies my face, her gaze zeroing in on me. “Goodnight, Ford.”
With that, she spins, her slender frame strutting out of the bar and into the night, leaving me with the scent of her spicy perfume and an isolating void I haven’t felt in a long fucking time.
Once the door closes on the blonde beauty, I toss back the remnants of my scotch and catch the attention of the bartender. When he returns after running my credit card, I ask, “Have you seen the woman who was just next to me here before?”
He shakes his head, collecting the bills she left for him. “Nope, never seen her.”
Slipping my hands into my pants pockets, I exit the bar, the magnificent laughter of the mysterious woman playing on a loop in my mind. I hope I never forget it. The smoggy night air kisses the exposed skin above my shirt collar, a lingering chill wafting through the evening. I approach the black SUV at the end of the block, my driver hustling to hold the door to the backseat open for me. I nod at James, who returns the gesture before slipping behind the wheel.
“Home, please,” I instruct him as he pulls out of the parking spot.
Reaching for my phone, I find a text from my best friend, Drake Elwood.
Drake: Since I’m a great friend, I should ask if the drink helped, but I already know that it did, so there’s no need to tell me I’m right. The only cure for dealing with Jackson is alcohol.
I roll my eyes, huffing a silent laugh as I hammer out a quick reply. While he doesn’t yet know the specifics of my lousy day, he knows it involves Jackson, and that’s enough. There’s not a single meeting with that asshole that hasn’t led to a shitty mood.
Ford: You’re my only friend.
