Did she really want to give any man that power over her?
“That’s it,” the photographer said. “That’s the look I was asking you for earlier. If you looked at me that way, I’d have sex with you, and I don’t even like men.”
Connor’s smile twitched with humor, but he kept his attention on Angelina. There was a possessive need in his gaze so intense Angelina was finding it difficult to think of much else beyond getting him alone.
She told herself his expression was the result of his skill as an actor, but he still looked pretty damn excited for a man who was acting. He likes me.
Really likes me.
This could go somewhere.
She blinked back tears as hope and fear warred within her.
Slow down.
I barely know him.
There’s no reason to think what I’m feeling now is anything more than lust . . . or that it will last.
But it sure feels real.
Ten photo shoot months later, Connor shimmied out of candy cane patterned swim trunks and reached for his own clothing. As he stepped into his boxers he read the quote on the front of them and smiled. Since his brother Dylan had left for Iceland, he’d started sending gifts back to Connor. Dylan’s latest one had been a set of boxers with motivational quotes on them.
He’d probably intended them as a joke, but wearing them had actually lifted Connor’s spirits over the past week. To give him confidence running his first meeting with Landon Foundation he’d worn the ones that said: Want hard. Work hard.
When negotiating the cost of the new building they were acquiring, he’d worn: No matter how you start, finish unforgettable.
The day he’d met families the Landon Foundation was helping he wore: Do it with passion or don’t do it at all.
Today’s boxers were meant to keep him motivated through what had sounded like a long day: I don’t quit before I’m done.
Standing there looking in the mirror, he imagined what Angelina would think of them. Wait, she was standing right outside the door of the changing room. He didn’t have to imagine. He opened the door and called her over.
Eyes wide she approached his changing room. “Yes?”
“Read my boxers. My brother sent me a bunch like this. I thought they were motivational messages, but now I think he’s ragging on me because I always joke I have more sex than he does.”
Angelina’s mouth rounded but no sound came out. Her eyebrows came together and her cheeks flushed as her gaze dropped.
Beneath her attention, his cock sprang to attention, tenting his boxers. Connor looked down, then met her eyes and smiled. “Sorry. I can’t control that around you.”
Still she didn’t say anything, she just nodded.
The air was thick with a sexual tension that he didn’t feel right about acting on there. His body was hyperaware of every inch of hers—the catch in her breath, the way she bit her bottom lip as her gaze roamed over him. She was as excited as he was. He would have kissed her, but she wasn’t someone he wanted to fuck in a changing room and their attraction was like a racehorse rearing and ready. Exciting, but he wanted what happened between them to matter. He’d slept with a fair share of women he hadn’t expected to see again. Angelina was different. He didn’t understand why . . . she simply was. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you. I didn’t want you to see them later and think . . .” An image of her gloriously naked and riding him, those amazing breasts of hers jiggling against his chest temporarily distracted him.
Didn’t I just tell myself that’s not where this is going today?
“They’re fine,” she said in a husky voice.
He decided to ease the tension with a joke. “I should have caught the sexual connotations when I wore the pair that said. ‘I’m not here to be average.’ I thought they were meant to bolster my confidence. Oh, I will find the perfect gift for payback.”
Her lips curved in a smile. “I’d love to help you choose something. I used to enjoy tormenting my brothers.” Her smile faded almost as soon as she mentioned her family.
If Connor wasn’t sporting an awkwardly impressive boner, he would have pulled her in for a hug. She was strong and independent, but she was also a little broken. He’d realized that the day they’d met at Reemsly. Now he saw her pain ran deeper than her job.
“I should get dressed.” His dick was apparently unable to pick up on mood changes and it was impossible to pretend it wasn’t dancing in the air between them, begging for her to notice it. He checked the time on his watch. “It’s only two o’clock. Are you hungry?”
She nodded.
All the signs were there that she was as eager to be with him as he was to be with her. Normally, they’d be halfway back to his place. If a cookie was placed on his plate, he’d never been the type to eat his vegetables first. Life was too short to not choose pleasure first.
But not this time.
As much as he wanted her in his bed, he wanted to make sure she was okay even more. He needed to know what was behind the sadness he’d sensed in her. It wasn’t something he bragged about, but he’d always been able to feel the pain in others. An eighth sense. Nothing formal. Nothing flashy. He simply felt an ache around certain people. Usually he helped them by playing the clown. Laughter was a great healer.
There’d been long, sad days after his mother had died. He remembered the comfort every member of his family had found in the antics of their Newfoundland, Piper. Her wagging tail and enthusiasm had brought smiles back to their faces when nothing else had.
Connor had taken that lesson to heart. Most people, regardless of how hurt or hardened they were, wanted to be loved. They yearned to be welcomed with dog-level enthusiasm. He’d changed many things about himself to fit in with the Barringtons, but he hadn’t changed that. He didn’t care how many times they threatened him, that family needed hugs more than most.
Allowing himself the briefest of kisses, Connor teased his lips over Angelina’s then closed the door between them before he changed his mind. In a flash he was dressed in his charcoal suit and fancy leather shoes.
“Ready?” he asked as he exited the changing room. “How does pizza sound?”
Chapter Twelve
Angelina’s head was still spinning as Connor parked his Mercedes behind a small family restaurant in Queens. When he’d whisked her out of the photographer’s studio, she’d half expected him to drive straight to his place or ask for her address.
Instead it looked as if they were actually going to have pizza.
Her hands were clasped on her lap. They hadn’t kissed again since they’d been alone. She didn’t know what to think. Her heart was beating about a thousand times a minute, though. She couldn’t remember being so excited to be on a date with a man—ever.
After parking, he released his seat belt and turned to her. “Before we go any further, there’s something you need to know.”
Oh, shit.
I knew there was something. Is he dying? Secretly married?
Contagious?
She’d once gone on a date with a man who’d chosen just such a moment to tell her he had an unusual fetish—nylons. As in, he couldn’t orgasm unless he was wearing them. It had been a deal breaker for her.