Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,47
a whole night screwing their brains out. She remembered past etiquette training, and he was the consummate host. It wasn’t until he’d filled her with chicken picatta and wine that she said, “So, are we ever going to talk about that night?”
He shifted his angle against the window to give his full attention to her. “I thought you said it was off limits.”
Jessica shook her head. “I changed my mind. The enigma of you is too intriguing.” She rolled her lips in to moisten them. “That night, you held onto me tight. You were so controlled one second, and the next, you were so…”
“Like a maniac.”
“I was going to say raw. So, what are we going to do?”
“You mean besides screw each other senseless?”
His response shocked her a little, and she giggled. “Yes, besides that. I'm not into doing the hook-up thing. Contrary to what happened the first night, I don’t currently make sleeping with random men a habit.”
His expression serious, he nodded. “Neither do I. I prefer women.”
She blinked as if trying to decipher his joke. Had he intended to make one? He was so serious she could never tell.
She indicated the room across the hall. “You keep looking over there. Why?”
He shook his head. “I'm focused on you, I promise. I'm doing my level best to keep my hands off of you and not rip that dress to pieces.”
Jessica sputtered around her glass of wine. “Nice deflection, but what is that room? Is that where you lure your dates then chop them up into little pieces?” I swear to God, no more serial killer TV shows for me. “You going to tell me?”
Eli twisted his lips, looked at the closed-off room, then back at her. He caressed her arm with the backs of his fingertips before taking her hand and tugging her toward the door. “I guess you can call this place my telltale heart.”
When he opened the door and turned on the light, Jessica gasped. In the corner, there were large to median slabs of soapstone, alabaster, and marble. There was a table with chiseling tools with a well work chair. On another table in the corner sat several finished pieces of the female form that were as seductive and provocative as his paintings. “Are these yours?”
He nodded. “Yeah, it's only, a, hobby though.”
“Oh, Eli, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what? There’s nothing to tell. I'm not a sculptor.”
“Yes. You are.” Jessica fingered the finished pieces and stared at him in awe. “These are incredible. I’d love to use this for the opening.”
He gave her a firm shake of his head. “Forget it, Jessica, not happening.”
She studied him for a long moment. “Okay. It's your call. We don’t have to show these.” He might not want to show these pieces, but they were excellent. She simply needed to get him to understand. She had time though, no need to shut him down. Jessica understood artists and their insecurities, if nothing else.
The serious frown was back between his eyes, and she tried to distract him. “Since you’re giving the world tour, isn't there anywhere else you want to show me?”
***
“Once we do this, I can’t go back to merely being friends.” Eli’s hands were shaking, he was so on edge. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I thought we agreed that it’s not the best idea.”
Jessica’s slight shoulders lifted and fell. “I can’t seem to get you out of my head. And honestly, you make me feel something different. I-it scares me.”
Eli frowned. “Why? I would never hurt you, Jessica.”
“No, I know. It’s just so intense with us. We burn so hot that there’s no way something like that can be good for me.”
Eli fought the inner battle with himself. He made a commitment to Samson before he even met Jessica. He wasn’t being truthful with her, but he wanted her. Bad. “Jess, we—” He swallowed hard. He took a step back. “We should go have dessert.” Then realizing what he said, he amended, “In the kitchen.”
Jessica pursed her lips. “Okay. So you’re being the good guy. Carry on. I’m right behind you.”
He led the way back into the living room. “So do you want some wine or—” The sound of a zipper broke the silence in the room. Eli whipped around to find Jessica with the zipper of her hot little number down. Fuck. All tenuous threads of nobility ended there.
“What are you waiting on, Eli?”
His gaze flicked to her lips. “To be honest,