cultural and visual distraction, and I needed the diversion to keep my thoughts from diving into the gutter.
• • •
Deciding what to wear on a date with Ben Shaw was like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube in the dark. Damn near impossible. I tried on and abandoned nearly every article of clothing I brought. But soon, it was ten minutes to eight and I was forced to make a decision. A pair of dark-washed skinny jeans, ballet flats since he’d said we’d be walking, and a lacy black top with a camisole underneath.
There was just one question: Did I wear my Spanx to keep everything looking tucked in and in tip-top shape? Or did I hope for action later and forgo those awful things, knowing there was no sexy way to get them off? No, there would be no action later—that was silly. He was him. And I was me. Duh. It was a no-brainer. Still, I chose in favor of breathing and opted to leave the Spanx behind.
My hair was down and pin-straight and my makeup had cooperated for once. I’d managed to line my eyes with liquid eyeliner without stabbing myself in the retina even once. Yay, me!
Ben was already waiting in the lobby when I got downstairs. Since he hadn’t yet looked up, I allowed my eyes to rake over him unashamedly, noting the way his black leather jacket stretched across his shoulders and hugged his biceps and his white V-neck T-shirt exposed his very kissable throat. His shirt was just snug enough to hint at how cut he was underneath. I could already envision the washboard abs hiding beneath the fabric. He could’ve just walked off a GQ shoot with the sexy charm he exuded. I didn’t stand a chance. He was all man, but he was stylish as well and I suddenly felt a pang of nerves, realizing my clothes carried none of the designer labels his did. Did that type of thing matter to him?
Ben’s eyes lifted to mine and a slow, sexy smile spread across his lips.
I stopped in front of him, fidgeting and knotting my fingers together. “Hi.”
“Hi darlin’. You ready?” His mouth was still tugged up in a playful grin, and I couldn’t help but smile like a lovesick fool at this sexy man.
“Ready.” As I’ll ever be.
He led me outside and across the street to the stone walkway along the Seine where we quickly fell into step together. I felt the warmth of his hand hover at my lower back, but he never made contact. It was sweet and innocent yet highly erotic at the same time. The promise of something more between us hung in the air, unspoken and unknown.
I enjoyed the endorphins that flooded my system. I felt alive. The stars were glittering like rhinestones in the darkened night sky. Paris at night was magical and seductive. It had a vibe—a casual sexiness that oozed from each little patisserie and brasserie we passed.
Ben glanced down, looked at my shoes, and gave me a smile. “I like that you wore flats. Girls never wear flats. Now we can actually walk.”
Oh. I didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. Of course the beautiful women he dated obviously wore the most exquisite shoes, but I went for comfort. Damn. Fail . Or win, depending on how you looked at it.
“Yeah, I knew we’d be walking,” I quickly added. He didn’t need to know that I always wore flats. Heels and I didn’t get along. Wearing them had resulted in head trauma more than once, as I routinely fell on my face when I tried to walk in them.
At six feet three he had a full foot of height on me. No worries, though, because I would happily climb him like a freakin’ jungle gym, if given the chance. I felt little next to him, and it was a decidedly nice feeling. Just being near him gave me a thrill. His presence alone held the power to captivate, titillate, and turn me on. In other words, I was doomed.
When we reached a very Parisian café at a charming intersection, Ben stopped and guided me forward, his fingers brushing my hip, sending a zip of heat through my belly. He spoke in flawless French—flawless to my untrained ears,
• • •
Deciding what to wear on a date with Ben Shaw was like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube in the dark. Damn near impossible. I tried on and abandoned nearly every article of clothing I brought. But soon, it was ten minutes to eight and I was forced to make a decision. A pair of dark-washed skinny jeans, ballet flats since he’d said we’d be walking, and a lacy black top with a camisole underneath.
There was just one question: Did I wear my Spanx to keep everything looking tucked in and in tip-top shape? Or did I hope for action later and forgo those awful things, knowing there was no sexy way to get them off? No, there would be no action later—that was silly. He was him. And I was me. Duh. It was a no-brainer. Still, I chose in favor of breathing and opted to leave the Spanx behind.
My hair was down and pin-straight and my makeup had cooperated for once. I’d managed to line my eyes with liquid eyeliner without stabbing myself in the retina even once. Yay, me!
Ben was already waiting in the lobby when I got downstairs. Since he hadn’t yet looked up, I allowed my eyes to rake over him unashamedly, noting the way his black leather jacket stretched across his shoulders and hugged his biceps and his white V-neck T-shirt exposed his very kissable throat. His shirt was just snug enough to hint at how cut he was underneath. I could already envision the washboard abs hiding beneath the fabric. He could’ve just walked off a GQ shoot with the sexy charm he exuded. I didn’t stand a chance. He was all man, but he was stylish as well and I suddenly felt a pang of nerves, realizing my clothes carried none of the designer labels his did. Did that type of thing matter to him?
Ben’s eyes lifted to mine and a slow, sexy smile spread across his lips.
I stopped in front of him, fidgeting and knotting my fingers together. “Hi.”
“Hi darlin’. You ready?” His mouth was still tugged up in a playful grin, and I couldn’t help but smile like a lovesick fool at this sexy man.
“Ready.” As I’ll ever be.
He led me outside and across the street to the stone walkway along the Seine where we quickly fell into step together. I felt the warmth of his hand hover at my lower back, but he never made contact. It was sweet and innocent yet highly erotic at the same time. The promise of something more between us hung in the air, unspoken and unknown.
I enjoyed the endorphins that flooded my system. I felt alive. The stars were glittering like rhinestones in the darkened night sky. Paris at night was magical and seductive. It had a vibe—a casual sexiness that oozed from each little patisserie and brasserie we passed.
Ben glanced down, looked at my shoes, and gave me a smile. “I like that you wore flats. Girls never wear flats. Now we can actually walk.”
Oh. I didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. Of course the beautiful women he dated obviously wore the most exquisite shoes, but I went for comfort. Damn. Fail . Or win, depending on how you looked at it.
“Yeah, I knew we’d be walking,” I quickly added. He didn’t need to know that I always wore flats. Heels and I didn’t get along. Wearing them had resulted in head trauma more than once, as I routinely fell on my face when I tried to walk in them.
At six feet three he had a full foot of height on me. No worries, though, because I would happily climb him like a freakin’ jungle gym, if given the chance. I felt little next to him, and it was a decidedly nice feeling. Just being near him gave me a thrill. His presence alone held the power to captivate, titillate, and turn me on. In other words, I was doomed.
When we reached a very Parisian café at a charming intersection, Ben stopped and guided me forward, his fingers brushing my hip, sending a zip of heat through my belly. He spoke in flawless French—flawless to my untrained ears,
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