Free The Chase by Lauren Hawkeye Page B

believe he’s gay, or at least not entirely... he’s somewhere on that sliding scale that you learn about in Psych 101, one that says basically nobody is completely one way or the other, no matter what they believe. I never meant to, but I woke something up in him... him , the man who could have any man or woman he wanted.
    The knowledge gives me power, a heady sensation because I’ve never had any before. Now I just have to decide what to do with it. And what to do with this purring sex kitten that seems to have come to life in me , the one that wants to stretch languorously and bathe in the warmth of his smile every time he looks at me.
    Adam’s gaze darkens with intent as he looks at me, and I realize the ridiculously big sweatpants have slid down in my sleep, revealing a teasing band of pink lace , a hint of my bare stomach. It’s been so long since I wanted someone enough to feel that burn, that ache to lose myself in them, that the sensation is nearly overwhelming. It’s all I can do to not rip the offensive borrowed shirt and pants off and offer him my skin... all of my skin.
    The air between us is thick with things unspoken, and when he speaks, the rough timbre of his voice is like a song.
    “You make a pretty picture, lying there in this light, all flushed from sleep.” He doesn’t move, but I feel like he’s stroking me with his voice. “You’d look even prettier naked.”
    “Adam.” It’s not an admonition, not a plea, just an expression of what I’m feeling. The line that was so carefully drawn between us when he said he wouldn’t touch me is about to be crossed... I know this because I’m about to ask him to stomp it into the ground.
    “Take off that shirt.” He clearly expects me to obey. And heaven help me, I want to do what he says... but I’m enjoying this feeling of control too much to give in that easily. Crossing my arms at the waist, I fist the cotton in damp palms, indicating what I’ll do, but make my demand first.
    “What does your tattoo mean?” I nod with my head toward the Latin tattoo that I’d asked about earlier
    I watch his jaw clench as he clearly considers refusing to answer, but then, wonder of wonders, he speaks.
    “It says you are the music while the music lasts .” He traces a finger over the words as he speaks, and I’m mesmerized by the sight of his fingers stroking over his own skin. “It’s from a poem by T.S. Eliot.”
    My heart thunders as I lick my tongue over my dry lips. “Did you get it for someone?”
    His lips tighten. “You could say that.”
    I open my mouth to pr ess him further... an Adam Kincaid who is letting me in, even the smallest amount, is too much to pass up.
    There’s a knock on the door, and Adam’s cell phone buzzes at the same time. I jolt, but Adam holds still, ignoring the noise while devouring me with that gaze.
    It’s not until there’s another, more insistent knock on the door that he shakes his head slightly, breaking the spell. As he jogs down the stairs to open it, the spell breaks, and I’m left all but panting on the bed.
    How the hell has he managed to arouse me so much with just a look and few words? I’m closer to orgasm just from that than I usual ly am from a half hour with a vibrator.
    Amy enters the room, studiously ignoring me. She looks exactly like what I imagine a rock star’s assistant should look like, still wearing the leather pants, but she’s paired them with a super low cut white silk blouse and a well cut black blazer. The blouse is just see through enough to make out the scarlet bra beneath. On anyone else the ensemble might look cheap, but with her confidence, not to mention how clearly expensive the clothes are, it works. Studious and sexy, that’s her.
    And I’m still in those stupid sweatpants.
    “They’re ready for you.” Amy runs a hand through Adam’s hair, fussing with it a bit... unnecessarily, because I’m sure that they’ve got a stylist waiting at the shoot. Her fingers trace