Sex Addict (19 page)

“This king shrimp looks good, and the sauce sounds delicious.” When Evan’s eyes met hers, she couldn’t help but add, “I mean, who doesn’t like a good cream sauce?”

Evan grinned, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and he nodded. “I’ve always been a fan of a delicate cream sauce…the kind that melts in your mouth. We should get two.”

“Greedy,” she remarked, and they both looked up as the waiter came by to tell them the specials. It all sounded amazing to her, so she went ahead and placed her order, and then sat back to watch Evan do the same.
 

“Is red wine okay with you?” he asked, turning his attention back to her.
 

“Perfect.”

Once he’d made his selections, he took the napkin from the table and set it across his lap, and she made sure he noticed her following that move.
 

“See something you like?” he asked, his lips tipped up in amusement.
 

Something about the night was making her feel bolder than usual. Not that she was ever a shrinking violet, but having no attachments meant she was always in control, and here, it was quite clear that was not the case. She couldn’t put her finger on what the change was, but even without that sense of power, she suddenly felt fearless, as though there were no consequences to her actions and no fear of falling.
 

Well, the last part wasn’t true—she was definitely falling.

Drinking him in, she said, “I’m finding it hard to see something I
don’t
like.”

Something in her tone must have relayed her seriousness, because the grin that had started to form on his lips drew into a tight line instead.

“Well, don’t look too close.”

Reagan made sure she had his full attention as she let her eyes wander over all she could see.
 

“I’ve been looking at you for the past several weeks, and I have to say, Mr. James, I most certainly like what I’m seeing.”

He seemed slightly thrown by her comment, and she wondered what he was thinking as he sat there, all the ease having left him.

“Oh come on, you have to know you’re improving,” she added, realizing that somehow her comment had changed the mood at the table from flirty to solemn. He looked as if he were about two steps from getting up and leaving. “Let’s change the subject, then,” she said, hoping to get some kind of response other than the stoic expression he was currently wearing.

“So, for our first date, you took me to a restaurant in…Brooklyn. Don’t get me wrong, it’s gorgeous and all, but come on, you can spill…” She leaned across the table and made sure she had his full attention as she whispered, “It’s because you’re good with your fingers, right?”

Just as she’d hoped, Evan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at her teasing tone.

“You’re a minx, Ms. Spencer. A naughty little minx.”

She slicked her tongue along her glossy lower lip and sat back slowly, happy to see he had come back out to play.

“As if you’re one to talk.”

The waiter arrived at their table right before Evan could respond, and he placed their meals down and poured them each a glass of red. As he walked away, Reagan reached for her wine glass and absentmindedly ran her index finger around the top of the rim before raising her eyes to the man seated across from her.

He was watching her with a look on his face she couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t the serious expression from moments ago, and it certainly wasn’t the playful Evan she’d become accustomed to. No, this was a look of recognition, almost as if—

“Huh. I swear you just made me have some sort of déjà vu. You with your curls and that thing you just did with the glass.” He gestured at it with a nod, and Reagan immediately pulled her hand away.

Fuck
. She didn’t even realize she’d been doing it.

“Nervous habit?”

Putting her hands under the table to keep them the hell out of trouble, she shook her head and felt her damn curls brushing her cheeks. What had she been thinking wearing her hair this way?

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ve got nothing to be nervous about…do I?”

Evan shrugged and thankfully let it go. “Not that I’m aware of. You’re one of the most put-together females I’ve ever met. And one of the sexiest.”

Reagan picked up one of her shrimp and then aimed what she hoped was an indecent smile in Evan’s direction as she dipped it in the sauce and brought it up to her mouth.
 

He watched her with intense focus as she parted her lips and slipped the succulent piece of shrimp between her teeth, sliding the shellfish out of her mouth and sucking the creamy sauce from its flesh.

“How many of those shrimp do you have?” Evan asked as he glanced down at her plate.

She gave a soft chuckle and counted. “Looks like eight…unless you feel like sharing yours with me.”

He picked up one of his own shrimp and dipped it in the sauce before telling her, “You suck yours, and I’ll suck mine.”

“Hmm, I think you actually mean vice versa. Maybe you could suck mine, and I could—”

Evan coughed mid-chew and then swallowed before replying, “Jesus, Reagan, you can’t say that shit to me here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m
trying
to wine and dine you, but if you keep up with those comments, you won’t get your dessert.”

“Oh, I plan on getting dessert.”

“Reagan…” Evan growled, clenching his napkin in one hand.
 

Reagan’s eyes widened innocently as she picked up her glass of wine and looked out across the East River. “Gorgeous view, wouldn’t you say?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Evan shaking his head before following her gaze.
 

It really was beautiful. The city lights stood out in contrast against the mix of an ink-stained sky, and she found herself saying, “Thank you.”

She could see puzzlement cross Evan’s features in his reflection, and he responded, “Thank you?”

“You picked a gorgeous spot to wine and dine me. So thank you. But if you don’t mind”—she glanced at him with her brow raised—“I’d like to pick where we have dessert.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AFTER THEY’D ENJOYED their delicious meal, Reagan had indeed taken Evan to her favorite dessert spot—her third-floor walk-up apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.
 

He’d been torturous to watch over the past two hours, making sure she’d caught every lick of his fingers and the way he sucked in his bottom lip to catch the last drop of sauce from his prawns. Clearly, the venue had been chosen with great purpose—not that she was complaining.

She’d been serious when she’d told Evan she didn’t do repeats. But the man she’d gone home with all those weeks ago was not the same one who followed her inside her loft now.
 

Since that night, her head had been warring with her heart over how to handle the polar emotions she felt every time he was near. Hell, she even felt them every time he wasn’t.
 

Before their little bet, she’d been standing firm on the side of “nothing more than professional association with Evan with a smidgen of friendship thrown in.” They’d work together, she’d give him an ear when he needed it…

That, however, had proved impossible to maintain after this week. Her carefully guarded exterior crumbled with every smirk of his lips and every inappropriate message on her coffee cup. As much as her head knew what would happen now could only lead to disaster, she was selfish enough to ignore the warning.
 

She wanted him. She’d always wanted him. How could she possibly walk away from the chance to be with him, no matter what the fallout entailed?

The answer to that came easier than her next breath—she couldn’t.
 

“Have to say”—Evan broke the silence as Reagan dropped her keys and bag on the foyer table—“I wasn’t expecting an invite back to your place when you mentioned dessert.”

“No?” she asked as she looked at him over her shoulder.
 

He’d turned to shut her front door behind him, and when he glanced back to where she was standing, she felt her thighs clench at the heat aimed her way.

“No. But that’s not to say I’m disappointed.”

Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she made her way into the open living space. Evan wasn’t far behind; she could tell because lately she seemed to pick up on every little thing he did, and right now, she knew he’d stopped near the entrance to stare at her black-and-white photographs—the ones she’d taken when she first moved to the city several years ago.

“I really love these,” he said, his voice more serious than she’d heard before. “Did you take them?”

“Yes,” she replied, offering no more as she pushed a curl behind her ear.
 

“You’re really private about your artwork, aren’t you, Reagan?” Evan asked as he slid one of his hands into his pockets and started to walk toward her.

Trying to play it cool, she gave a quick shrug but also said, “I told you last weekend. It’s just a hobby I like to do in my spare time.”

“Yes, one where you make up stories, I believe you mentioned.”

“That’s right.”

She saw him glance beyond her shoulder to the bookshelves behind her, and when his mouth curved into a wicked smile, she wondered what exactly he was thinking. He stepped around her, and she spun on her toes to see him heading for the spot she kept her cameras, tripods, bags, and film.
 

“Sure…feel free to look around, Evan.”

Without even sparing her a look, he said, “Hey, you’re the one that invited me in.”

Frowning, she waited to see what he was doing. When he reached for the Polaroid camera on the second shelf and turned back to face her, Reagan suddenly had a flash of him, sans clothing, lounging on her bed, and
her
snapping all kinds of “scenery” shots.

“Now, this…
this
is interesting,” he remarked.

Deciding now wasn’t the time to be coy, Reagan raised a brow before responding. “It’s a Polaroid. I’m sure you’ve seen one of those before. It gives you an instant photo.”

Evan licked his bottom lip as he let his eyes rove down over her, and then said, “I
do
like instant gratification…”

“Do you? That’s shocking, Mr. James.”

Holding the viewfinder up to his eye, he quickly snapped a photo of her and reached around to grab the printed film. He waved the photograph back and forth to speed up the developing process, but Reagan tsked and walked over to grab the photo from him.
 

“You don’t have to work so hard to get the picture to come through,” she said, looking up at him under her long lashes. “It’ll develop naturally.” Not taking her eyes from his, she set the photo on the bar top. “Now we wait.”

The smolder in Evan’s gaze made her knees weak as he replied, “I’ve never been a patient man when it comes to getting what I want.” His hand came up to cup the side of her neck before he slowly trailed his fingers down, brushing past her collarbone, then farther to trace over the swells of her breast.
 

A shiver ran through her at the heat of his touch, and her breath hitched as she took a step back. He countered and she took another. And then another. With every move she made, he stalked her, like a wild animal boxing in their prey and waiting for the right moment to attack. When her back met the cold, exposed brick, she didn’t even try to move. Instead, she watched him as he prowled closer, a feral look in his features, as dangerous as it was desirous.
 

One of his hands hit the wall by the side of her head; the other stayed down by his side still holding the camera. The weight of him loomed heavily over her even without touching. His powerful frame and the heady, masculine scent of him enveloped her, blazing a trail of fire down between her thighs.

With his eyes pinning her in place, he brought the camera between them, aimed the lens under her skirt, and snapped a shot.

“Wonder what story this will tell me?” He raised the Polaroid to her as the picture slid out, and said, “Do you want to do the honors or shall I?”

Not quite believing what he’d just done, Reagan’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.

“Oh, okay, you convinced me. I’ll look.”

He pushed back from the wall and pulled the small square photograph free, and this time instead of waving it, he brought it close to his mouth, held her eyes, and blew.

“If you’re really nice…no,
bad
to me,” he said, his voice dripping with devilry, “I’ll give the real thing the same treatment.”

Deciding she was done with being a wallflower, she took a step forward and grabbed the camera from him.

“I think you may have forgotten, but in this house, I’m the photographer. So maybe if you’re nice to
me
, I’ll blow on
you
later.”

Evan looked down at the photo in his hand and then raised his eyes to hers. “Got to say, this picture is telling me something very specific, Ms. Spencer.”

He made a show of studying it in great detail before aiming his eyes down to the hem of her dress.

“Think I could get a closer look?”

Reagan brought the camera up between them and told him, “Perhaps. But first, take off your jacket.”

Evan tilted his head slightly, and his brows rose as she continued to watch him with unflinching focus.

“Just my jacket?”

“That’s what I said.”
 

He nodded, and as he started to undo the buttons, she snapped off a shot. Then he halted his movements, his eyes narrowing on her when she pulled the photo out and aimed again.

“Why’d you stop?”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She licked her lips as she looked him over, and then informed him, “I’m going to tell a very naughty story. Now, keep going, Evan.”

He parted the fitted material and shrugged out of it as she took several more snapshots, each depicting every small movement, and as they developed one by one, she let them fall, scattering to the floor.
 

When he was standing before her in his shirt, pants, and tie, she took his measure, trying to decide what she wanted gone next, but Evan had his own ideas.