“No. Men only care about getting off, so it’s never been a problem before.” She shrugs.
“Sounds like you’ve been with the wrong men.” My fists numb and my jaw aches.
She blinks up at me. “Stop staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.”
I move my gaze from her, wondering what the hell I must look like from her perspective and not wanting to make her ashamed or embarrassed.
“What are you thinking?” She whispers and concern etches her question.
“I think”—I meet her stare—“you’re pretty spectacular.”
With the light from a billion stars, I watch her full lips pull into a grin. “You do?”
“Yeah, Trix, I do.” The feel of her name from my lips is off now, like something has changed between us. She’s no longer Trix the exotic dancer, but a girl, a woman who is saving a very intimate part of herself for only one man—one very fucking lucky man who will end up being her partner for life, protecting her, shielding her from heartbreak, cherishing her love, and ensuring her happiness.
“Hey, can you tell me what your real name is?” I have to know. With every bit of my soul, I want to know who this woman is outside of the G-strings and stiletto heels.
Her face twists in confusion. “My real name?”
“I’m assuming Trix is a made-up name, you know, to create and entice the fantasy.”
She bites her lip, thinking. “Hmm. And what would you say is so enticing about the name Trix?”
Seems pretty obvious to me. She can’t be clueless about it, but she wants to hear me say it. I’ll play. “Trix is a sweet tasting cereal that melts in your mouth. It’s like candy, sweet like you.”
“Ah, aren’t you the charmer.” She holds up a finger. “I’ve also heard Trix implies I ‘turn tricks,’ like I’m a hooker.”
I shrug one shoulder, ashamed to admit it, but . . . “Yeah, that too. Creating the fantasy.”
She laughs and drops her chin. “If my dad hears this, he’ll wish they’d renamed me,” she mumbles.
“So, what’s your real name?”
She peeks up at me and smiles. “Beatriks, with a ‘k.’ It’s the Russian form of Beatrice.”
“Your real name is Trix?”
“Yeah.” She laughs, and the sound shoots straight to my groin.
“Wow.” I study her: big eyes that, even though it’s too dark to see, I know are blue with the slightest hint of lavender, full lips, and under all the blond and purple hair is a natural blond that I bet lightens bright white in the sun. “Beatriks.”
“My brothers and sisters call me Bea, like bee-ah.”
“Bea.” I tuck a few loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “That’s cute. I like it.”
I like it. I like her, and fuck if all this information about her isn’t making me even more curious.
Twelve
Trix
“Take your pick.” Mason holds up a bag. “Peppered”—he holds up another bag—“or teriyaki.”
“Hmm . . .” I’m sitting with my back leaning against the pick-up truck cab as I survey my options. “That depends. Are we going to be kissing again?”
He nods repeatedly, even closes his eyes for emphasis. “Oh yeah, there will be a lot of kissing, but”—he tosses me the peppered flavor jerky—“I can tell by the way you’re eyeballin’ this bag that you like it spicy, and lucky for you, I do to.”
I pull out a long piece of smoked, dried meat. “You like spicy? Even secondhand?”
His eyes track to my mouth as I chew. “I’m willing to bet my life that with every taste, taking it from your mouth makes it sweeter.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” I grin and toss the bag back to him, hitting him in the chest.
He rips out a couple pieces and then pushes in next to me. “So, tell me about your sister. Lana, was it?”
I cough on my food and reach for the bottled water that Mason handed me just before he busted out the jerky.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He pats my back a couple times while I slurp down gulps of cool water.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. I wasn’t expecting such a serious question.”
He turns his gaze upward, his head resting on the back window of the truck. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was a sensitive issue.”
“It’s not. I just never talk about her.” I set down my water and rip apart tiny shreds of jerky.
“You can trust me.”
I nod because, without even understanding why I can trust him, I know with certainty that I do. “Svetlana was,