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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 102 из 205Idon't know if it was the leather or the fishnet, but the word “sleazy” came to mind. He had passed over some invisible line, from flirt to hustler.
I tried to picture him at twelve. It didn't work. Whatever had been done to him, he was what he was, and that was what I had to deal with. I wasn't a psychiatrist who could afford to feel sorry for the poor unfortunate. Pity is an emotion that can get you killed. The only thing more dangerous is blind hate, and maybe love.
Phillip pushed away from the wall and walked towards the car. I unlocked his door, and he slid inside. He smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and faintly of sweat.
I pulled away from the curb. “Aggressive little outfit there, Phillip.”
He turned to stare at me, face immobile, eyes hidden behind the same sunglasses he had worn earlier. He lounged in the seat, one leg bent and pressed against the door, the other spread wide, knee tucked up on the seat. “Take Seventy West.” His voice was rough, almost hoarse.
There is that moment when you are alone with a man and you both realize it. Alone together, there are always possibilities in that. There is a nearly painful awareness of each other. It can lead to awkwardness, to sex, or to fear, depending on the man and the situation.
Well, we weren't having sex, you could make book on that. I glanced at Phillip, and he was still turned towards me, lips slightly parted. He'd taken off the sunglasses. His eyes were very brown and very close. What the hell was going on?
We were on the highway and up to speed. I concentrated on the cars around me, on driving, and tried to ignore him. But I could feel the weight of his gaze along my skin. It was almost a warmth.
He began to slide along the seat towards me. I was suddenly very aware of the sound of leather rubbing along the upholstery. A warm, animal sound. His arm slid across my shoulders, his chest leaning into me.
“What do you think you're doing, Phillip!”
“What's wrong?” He breathed along my neck. “Isn't this aggressive enough for you?”
I laughed; I couldn't help it. He stiffened beside me. “I didn't mean to insult you, Phillip. I just didn't picture fishnet and leather for tonight.”
He stayed too close to me, pressing, warm, his voice still strange and rough. “What do you like then?”
I glanced at him, but he was too close. I was suddenly staring into his eyes from two inches away. His nearness ran through me like an electric shock. I turned back to the road. “Get on your side of the car, Phillip.
I tried to picture him at twelve. It didn't work. Whatever had been done to him, he was what he was, and that was what I had to deal with. I wasn't a psychiatrist who could afford to feel sorry for the poor unfortunate. Pity is an emotion that can get you killed. The only thing more dangerous is blind hate, and maybe love.
Phillip pushed away from the wall and walked towards the car. I unlocked his door, and he slid inside. He smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and faintly of sweat.
I pulled away from the curb. “Aggressive little outfit there, Phillip.”
He turned to stare at me, face immobile, eyes hidden behind the same sunglasses he had worn earlier. He lounged in the seat, one leg bent and pressed against the door, the other spread wide, knee tucked up on the seat. “Take Seventy West.” His voice was rough, almost hoarse.
There is that moment when you are alone with a man and you both realize it. Alone together, there are always possibilities in that. There is a nearly painful awareness of each other. It can lead to awkwardness, to sex, or to fear, depending on the man and the situation.
Well, we weren't having sex, you could make book on that. I glanced at Phillip, and he was still turned towards me, lips slightly parted. He'd taken off the sunglasses. His eyes were very brown and very close. What the hell was going on?
We were on the highway and up to speed. I concentrated on the cars around me, on driving, and tried to ignore him. But I could feel the weight of his gaze along my skin. It was almost a warmth.
He began to slide along the seat towards me. I was suddenly very aware of the sound of leather rubbing along the upholstery. A warm, animal sound. His arm slid across my shoulders, his chest leaning into me.
“What do you think you're doing, Phillip!”
“What's wrong?” He breathed along my neck. “Isn't this aggressive enough for you?”
I laughed; I couldn't help it. He stiffened beside me. “I didn't mean to insult you, Phillip. I just didn't picture fishnet and leather for tonight.”
He stayed too close to me, pressing, warm, his voice still strange and rough. “What do you like then?”
I glanced at him, but he was too close. I was suddenly staring into his eyes from two inches away. His nearness ran through me like an electric shock. I turned back to the road. “Get on your side of the car, Phillip.