Playboy by Katy Evans

Author:Katy Evans [Evans, Katy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Tags: Manwhore series
Publisher: Katy Evans
Published: 2018-07-28T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

In the middle of the night, we still haven’t slept one bit. I stare around in the darkness, too happy to sleep. He’s dragging his fingers lazily up and down my arm while I spoon his side. And instead of shifting away from me to attempt to go to sleep, he sort of pulls me closer. It makes me giddy, giddy enough that I don’t want to ever stop feeling giddy.

“Cullen?” My voice sounds almost loud in the darkness.

“Hmm.” His voice rumbles against the top of my head.

“Did you enjoy today? Or . . . um, last night? I have no idea what time it is.” I laugh.

He pulls me back closer to him because the moment I laughed, I sort of almost sat up.

“Immensely,” he answers slyly.

“I mean the art and paintings.”

“That too.” He chuckles, and I laugh softly, shifting up as I try to make out his features in the dark.

“So you enjoyed it as much as I do gambling?”

“You don’t like gambling,” he rumbles, pulling me back to his side. “You like watching me gamble.”

“I like it,” I contradict, roaming the tip of my index finger along his hard abs. “It’s growing on me.”

I feel something else growing against my abdomen and smile in the shadows.

“So you enjoyed it?” I insist.

“Yeah.” He moves me closer and shifts to face me, his hands wandering up and down my back. “I enjoyed watching you too.” His admission melts me as much as his wandering fingers do.

“Do you still plan to come to my show in Chicago? Even if you already lost?”

“Yeah. I plan to go. I should be finished tomorrow with the qualifier.”

I smile. “I’d love to have you there and show you the art. It’s my biggest exhibit to date.”

He shifts up on his elbow, and I can feel his gaze in the shadows. “Tell me about this big exhibit.”

Something else that’s pretty big keeps nudging my hipbone.

His interest mesmerizes me.

“Well, it’s a collective,” I explain, sitting up as I search his gaze in the dark, finding it only because of the silver gleam in his eyes, shiny even in shadows. “All of the artists I represent are exhibiting their newest works, plus a few other artists who’ve got international exposure that I was able to snatch up. One of them, Yamika Tanato, she’s so incredible. They all are. But Yamika . . .” I tell him about her installations and large-scale works, how she uses several layers of paint, how each work takes about six months to dry.

He inhales my hair as I settle back down in bed, runs his lips along my ear.

“Sounds fascinating.”

I frown. His voice is so low it’s almost indecipherable. “You don’t sound fascinated.”

“I am,” he promises, with a low laugh, as he drives his fingers into my hair. “Not my fault it’s such a turn-on to hear you speak about art. Come here.”

I giggle, already aching again as he turns my head, and suddenly our lips are inches apart. My breath and his breath mingling.

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