a joke. “I imagine anyone who films themselves having sex and uploads it to the internet isn’t really focused on pride.”
“That’s fair. But it still doesn’t mean it’s any good.”
“So”—he pauses, as if thinking out his next question—“what specifically makes it good besides lighting and camera angles? What kind of keywords are you using in your search?”
He loosens his tie. There’s still that twitchy lip, one I can’t read. Is he about to laugh at me? He sort of looks like he did before when we were in the kitchen while I was chasing that damn chipmunk. A chipmunk which, by the way, is living happily ever after in the backyard, thanks to me. Or thanks to Warren for opening the door, but whatever. I got Gary to drop the chipmunk so it’s my win.
But never mind the chipmunk, because Warren’s staring at me. Like really staring at me, like I’m sort of fascinating, and I don’t even care if it’s an amused fascination. He’s actually here. No distractions. And now that the sun has gone down it’s gotten a bit dark in the sitting room, like we’re in a private little bubble.
I tilt my chin up, because fuck it, I’m not going to back down. “If you must know, I’m searching threesomes.”
“Is that what you’re into?” He grins as if he’s not sure if I’m messing with him or not.
“Is that what you’re into?” I volley in return. “Do you have a secret sex room in the mansion?”
I have no idea why, but I sit up a little straighter on the sofa and peer around the room as if a secret door in the paneling is about to show itself, revealing a room with a padded sex bench and handcuffs and… whatever goes into sex rooms.
“No.” He’s shaking his head slowly, no longer hiding his amusement. “To both questions.”
“Yeah, me neither. Threesomes are a bit scintillating to watch, but I don’t want to actually be in one.”
“That’s good to hear,” he murmurs.
“Is it?” I like this development. I like it very much. The only reason he’d care about what I’m into is if he was interested in being into it with me. Right? Also, is it… hot in here? I mean, cliché yes, but I’m suddenly feeling very, very warm. In all sorts of places.
“So what are you into?” Right. That wasn’t a weird question. I clear my throat and try again. “’Cause whatever it is, me too,” I add, because yes, that did not make it weirder. At all.
He laughs, except I don’t laugh back. Because I’m not kidding.
Whatever this man is into, me too. I’m into it. I’ll try it. I’m ninety-seven percent certain I’ll like it, if it involves both of us being naked.
Suddenly, he stops laughing.
“So, you imagined kissing me,” he says, his voice low and thick. “Do you imagine doing other things with me as well?”
Houston. We have a home run.
Chapter Eighteen
He just asked that, right?
Or have my fantasies gotten so completely out of control that I’m mixing them in with reality?
Because it doesn’t seem possible that Governor Russo—the actual fucking governor, he of the world’s sexiest press conferences—just asked what I think he asked.
“What?” I say, practically purring, but desperately wanting him to repeat himself.
“I asked,” he begins, then walks closer—once he’s closed the distance between us he leans over, one hand braced on the back of the couch, his face a mere foot from mine—“what else you imagined doing with me.”
“Besides the kissing?” His tie is dangling between us. I could use it to topple him on top of me right now.
“Besides the kissing,” he reiterates, the hint of a smile playing at his lips as he leans in just a fraction closer.
“Naked things,” I admit. “I imagined a lot of activities that required nakedness. Or partial nudity. Full nudity wasn’t in all of my imaginings, some of the scenarios had us in partial states of undress. And, well, you get the drift, right?”
“You talk a lot,” he says, definitely smiling now, but he’s dipped his head another few inches closer to mine. I run his loosened tie through my fingers and tilt my head back so I can meet his gaze. Also so that my lips are lined up perfectly with his in case I decide to give the tie a tug.
“Fair enough,” I agree. “But you did ask.”
“This is probably a terrible idea,” he says, but his eyes are still on mine and they’re telling me this is a very,