Free Stripped by Edie Harris Page B

 
    Leaving her body was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, his limbs awkward and heavy when he pulled away. “Well. That was something.”
    Her head fell back against the brick. “That was…yeah.”  
    “I want your number.” When she didn’t say anything, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, trying not to gnash his teeth with frustration. With the exception of her orgasm, getting anything personal out of this woman was starting to seem like a Sisyphean task. “I should have it, regardless. What if I have a makeup emergency?”
    “Like, away from the studio?”
    He scowled at her. “You don’t know what I do on the weekend.”
    “If you’re about to tell me you’re a regular on the drag circuit—”
    “Can you just give me your number, Fiona?” Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew his phone, handed it to her. “Put it in yourself, if sayin’ it aloud is too much for you.”
    Hesitantly, she grasped the phone, fingertips glancing his in an electric whisper of physical contact that inconveniently reminded his dick that it had received zero attention, and it was Not Happy about this state of affairs. Watching him warily, she unlocked the screen with a swipe of one finger and started tapping what he hoped was her actual number into a new-contact slot in his address book.  
    She held out the phone when finished. “There. For makeup emergencies.”  
    He took it, pocketed it. Wanted to call her right this second to verify that the number she’d given him was a number at which her soft, clear-toned voice would greet him on the other end. Was it so wrong to want her voice in his ear, in whatever manner he could manage it?  
    Yeah. Yeah, it was all kinds of unprofessional wrong. Damn it.  
    Pushing off the wall, she straightened the hem of her skirt, flattening the fabric so it swung perfectly against her thighs. “This doesn’t change anything, you know.”
    Damn. It. “I know.”
    “We have to work together for the next several weeks.”  
    “I know.”  
    Her chest rose and fell in a shaky breath, and he was sadistically pleased to see her rattled. Because of him. Because of what he’d done to her a few minutes earlier.  
    She was stunning when she came. Fucking stunning.  
    She shifted toward the door, one step, then another, the click of her strappy heels a quiet echo off the tall brick walls sheltering them from the midnight traffic on the city’s streets. “You shouldn’t…don’t call me, okay?”
    The night had cooled considerably now that his heart rate had slowed somewhat, but her tense words sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. “Not gonna promise that, darlin’.” Unless… “Are you upset about what we did?”
    Her blush was visible in the shadows, even as her chin lifted defiantly. “I like orgasms as much as the next girl, especially ones I don’t have to give myself.”
    “So that’s a ‘no,’ then.”
    “I’m not upset.”
    “But you don’t want anything like this to happen again.” Her mouth opened, but he cut her off, jaw tight. “With me. You don’t want it to happen again with me.”  
    Her hand lifted as if reaching for him, then dropped to her side again in a fist. “It’s probably not a good idea.” A frown furrowed her brow, and she gazed up at him, eyes glinting in the weak overhead light. “Even though I wish it was.”
    Well, that was something—something Declan could work with. Stepping closer, the lingering scents of sex and jasmine hitting his nostrils, he stroked a loosened tendril of brown hair back from her temple, tucking the curled end behind her ear. His fingers trailed down the delicate angle of her jaw, absorbing the easy heat of her soft skin as awareness tingled through the veins in his forearm, up, up until his entire arm vibrated from this slight touch. “Sex is almost never a good idea.”
    She put a hand on his chest, her touch warming him through the cotton of his shirt, and gave a little