Follow Me Darkly (Follow Me #1) - Helen Hardt Page 0,13
I just figured you were from somewhere else on the East Coast. Not the Midwest.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “You look like a city girl.”
“Kansas has cities.”
“True, but not like the East Coast.”
“Also true,” I say. “I come from a farm anyway.”
“A farm?” He lifts his eyebrows. “A real, honest-to-goodness farm?”
“Uh…yeah. Does that surprise you?”
“A little. Do you milk cows and everything?”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t grow up on a dairy farm, Braden. I grew up on a corn farm. You know, knee-high by the Fourth of July?”
“That’s interesting.”
Interesting? Really? Corn is the most uninteresting thing on the planet, to my way of thinking.
“Why did you leave?”
I can’t help a short laugh. “Because I’ve taken about all the photos of corn I want to take in my career.”
“Right, photography. Makes sense.” He gazes at me, his eyes twinkling but never leaving mine, as he takes the last sip of his wine. “Ready for dinner?”
I’ve only had two small sips of my Wild Turkey. Not near enough to relax me. If I’m going to do this—leave my control at the door—I can’t depend on booze. I have to do it myself.
“Sure, let’s eat.” I take another small sip, resisting the urge to shoot it, ice cube or not. I set the glass down and lick the tangy spiciness from my lips.
His gaze burns into me.
“Fuck dinner,” he growls.
Chapter Eight
He grabs my hand and leads me to his bedroom.
Yes, the bedroom door. I’ve seen it before. It looms before me like the entrance to a fortress hiding jewels and treasures. My body is a warm mass of boiling honey, my heart a stampeding herd.
This is it.
This is going to happen.
I’m doing this. I’m not chickening out. I want this. I want him.
He pulls me toward his body and pushes his erection into my belly. “Feel that?” he whispers, tugging on my earlobe with his teeth. “Feel what you do to me. You won’t leave me wanting tonight, Skye. I’m going to fuck you.”
He lets me go and opens the door to his bedroom.
And it’s a sight to behold.
While the living room was black lacquer everywhere, the bedroom is masculine mahogany with navy-blue and ivory accents. As thrilling as his decor is, though, I’m drawn to the window that encompasses an entire wall overlooking the Boston Harbor.
I walk forward, as if in a trance. The glass is so clear that I feel like I could fall off the edge.
“One-way glass,” Braden says. “We can see out, but no one can see in.”
I’m only half listening. I’m much more interested in watching the yachts sailing into the marina. “Is one of those yours?” I ask.
“The Galatea, yeah. Ben’s got her out tonight.”
“Ben your brother?”
“Only Ben I know. He’s more into the boat thing than I am.”
“How can you not be into the boat thing? They’re so beautiful.”
“They’re a damned lot of work.”
“But don’t you—”
He tugs on my ponytail. “Do you really want to talk about boats right now?”
I turn, and now I finally appreciate the rest of the bedroom. His bed is king size. Honestly, it looks larger than a king to me. The headboard is magnificent—mahogany rungs with odd little metal pieces artistically placed just so. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The navy-blue comforter covering the bed is a shiny fabric, probably silk. The bed is on the main wall facing the large picture window. On one adjacent wall is a highboy dresser and chest, the mahogany matching the bed frame perfectly. Next to the highboy is an old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe, which is odd, because right next to it is a huge walk-in closet. The door is ajar, so I can see right into it. Why would he need an antique wardrobe?
On the opposite wall sit two wingback chairs in navy with gold flecks. The bed is flanked by two mahogany end tables with lamps on each.
“This is amazing,” I say.
“It’s a nice place to come home to at night.”
“I’ll say. If this were mine, I’m not sure I’d ever get out of bed.”
A soft growl emerges, seeming to come from his chest as he takes off his suit jacket. “I like the sound of that.”
I hold back a quiver.
I’m already wet between my legs. Have been since he picked me up at Addie’s office. Everything about Braden is sex on a stick—his silky dark hair, his searing blue eyes, the baritone timbre of his voice, his masculine hands, the way his suit hugs his body.