I'm not always the hero. Sometimes, I'm merciless.
My whole life I've been the good guy-loyal friend, helpful son, dedicated firefighter-but in the bedroom I'm someone else. That's where my inner villain likes to come out and play.
With a kink as ta...
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Emi
"Am I to assume you've already read everything about me on Google, then?"
"I take my research very seriously."
The waitress sets our drinks down, and I take a sip of mine before answering with a grin tugging at the corners of my lips. "I enjoy fishing, too." His eyebrows wing up in clear disbelief, making me laugh. "Okay, fine, I only did it once, but I had fun."
"Don't stop there," he says, picking up his glass. "I want to hear all about the ballerina princess and her fishing trip."
"I told you, I'm hardly a princess. Though if my father could justify locking me away in a tower I'm sure he would."
"If that ever happens, you can count on me to come to your rescue."
I chuckle at his playful wink. "That's very reassuring, thank you."
"Hey, I might be more of a stableboy than a gallant prince, but us stableboys know how to have a lot more fun." The green of his eyes heats with the kind of prurience that causes me to shiver in anticipation of what's to come. If only I have the courage to chase it.
The waitress breaks the spell when she shows up with the food, and I force myself to take in a deep breath. Slow down, Emi. Clearing my throat, I busy myself with choosing slices of duck prosciutto and manchego cheese and place them on a slice of crusty French bread. For the next half-hour we enjoy ourselves and make small talk. I share the story of my one and only fishing trip with my uncle when I was nine. He had told my parents he'd bought us tickets to a matinee showing of Beauty and the Beast downtown, so they let me skip my training that day, then he took me out on his charter boat instead. I spent the whole afternoon fishing, laughing, and eating junk food. We thought the theater had been the perfect alibi until I returned smelling like fish and lake water. I'd gotten grounded for a month, but it had been totally worth it.
"Dance with me," Austin says out of the blue.
After managing to not choke on my wine, I look over at the small floor space in front of the band, who just started playing a cover of "Say You Won't Let Go"by James Arthur. "No one else is dancing."
"That's no reason to let a good song go to waste." He rises, extending his hand. "Dance with me, Emmélie."
My breath catches at the way he says my full name. No one except my mother and grandparents in France had ever used it. It's always sounded too formal and less like me. But the way Austin's mouth wraps around the syllables speaks of an intimacy that shouldn't exist between two near strangers...and yet it does.
I place my hand in his much larger one and let him lead me to the open space that's to be our makeshift dance floor. He pulls me in close with his free hand splaying between my shoulder blades. His posture is impeccable, his form utterly perfect. Then, to my shock and delight, Austin Massey, man of mystery, leads me in a sensual rumba.
