Free Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) by Nola Sarina, Emily Faith Page B

the inside of his forearm in a neat arrangement the size of a barcode. I counted forty-three dots, but there was nothing else to the tattoo, no tribal pattern around it or anything else to accentuate the black. Just simple dots. I stroked it with a feather-light touch, wondering what significance—if any—the tattoo held for him, and he startled awake.
    “Sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
    He blinked as he came around, staring at me with those impossible eyes, and then a grin crept along his face and he stretched with an exaggerated groan.
    He relaxed back into the plush leather of the couch. “I didn’t shove you off the couch or anything, did I?” His voice was gritty from sleep. Sexy.
    That desire rose within me again like fire and I tried to stuff it down. “No. Why would you shove me off the couch?”
    He slipped his hand beneath my borrowed shirt and stroked my side, his touch sending little electric zaps down between my legs. “I just don’t sleep with people, that’s all.”
    “Neither do I. A night for firsts.”
    He hummed and slid his hand around my bare back, tugging me closer. God. His whole body was so solid, firm, and warm. And the way he touched me, his fingers tight like he didn’t want to let go. I tried to breathe normally so I wouldn’t give away how badly I wanted him, how potent this need inside me was growing.
    Then, just when I was trying to gather the courage to say something else, he grimaced and pulled his hand away to his groin, adjusting himself. He shrugged, a touch of humility in his captivating eyes.
    And I burst into laughter. I knew it was rude, and though I was laughing I wanted to punch myself for being so inexperienced, so easily embarrassed.
Tactful, Aria
. I tried to slip out of his grasp and summon up an apology, but he gathered me closer and buried my face against his chest, laughing with me.
    “Sorry,” he said through his laughter. “Proper morning wood etiquette escapes me. Like I said, I’m not used to waking up with someone.”
    I laughed harder, and he just kept touching me, stroking my back. Could he really be as clueless as I was? No way. I was sure Asher had more women than he could handle breaking down the door for their fifteen minutes of ecstasy.
    My laugh finally slowed and I peered up at him. He was still grinning, and he brushed the blue strand away from my eyebrows. “What do you mean, you don’t sleep with people?” I asked.
    His grin melted a bit. “I mean I don’t sleep with anyone.”
    Was he really going to make me spell out the question? “But . . . you could get any woman you wanted. You don’t take advantage of your jaw-dropping looks and the appeal of that giant wallet of yours?”
    He smirked and pressed against me. “That’s not my wallet, Aria.”
    Oh my God mother fucking damn. “I know that,” I breathed.
    He leaned closer and brushed a kiss behind my ear, and I lost my breath. “What was your question again?”
    I swallowed as he kissed me again, and again, down my neck to my shoulder. I couldn’t think. “Um. Sex.”
    He stopped. “Sex?”
    What? Oh, shit! I said sex. “I meant you! Like, with other women.” I rolled my eyes, embarrassed at how thoroughly I was proving my lack of tact. “You can’t expect me to believe you’re not . . .” my voice failed and I barely squeaked the rest, “sexually active.”
    He sighed and lifted his head, gazing into my eyes with total sincerity. “I’m active. But I really try not to be.”
    I stammered, confused. “You try to
not
have sex?”
    His expression cooled a little bit. “Yes. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.”
    “Because of the money?”
    “Because no one I sleep with will get what they deserve out of it.” Disdain colored his tone, and his hands were motionless now on my back.
    I reached up and slid my palm along the stubble of his chin. How isolating it must be, to have so much money and never be able to trust that anyone wants