Exposed to You (7 page)

“Fine.” I turned and stomped back behind the counter,
began filling his mug. The nerve. When I got a hold of Jeremy, I was going to
kill him. It was the last time I shared anything with him! What did he think,
that he could just send Dallon here and we’d be best friends? What did he care,
anyway?

“Trouble in paradise?” Jackson whispered, placing clean
mugs on the shelf below where I was standing.

“Huh?”

“You having a fight with your boyfriend?”

I scoffed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Jackson looked surprised. “You look like a couple
fighting to me.”

Like the people in the corner
, I thought. I glanced over at their table, but they were gone.

“So, is your non-boyfriend waiting for you to lock up?”
Jackson asked, grabbing more clean mugs and putting them away on the shelf.
“Why don’t you take off? It’s been slow tonight so there isn’t much to do. And
I kind of owe you.”

“That’s a great idea,” a voice said.

Jackson and I both jumped. Neither of us had realized
Dallon was at the counter.

“I’ll take that to go,” he winked at me.

***

“So, Amy, what made you decide to go to NYU?” Dallon
asked.

We were sitting at a table furthest away from anyone
else, as per Dallon’s request. He’d given the hostess his dazzling smile and
she’d practically tripped over herself trying to make him happy.

“I thought you already interviewed me,” I said tightly.

“Hmm. So it’s going to be like that.” He took a sip of
his beer, his bright blue eyes never leaving mine. I shifted in my seat and
finally looked down at my wine.

“I wanted to go to school far away from my parents, and
I’d never been to New York.”

“Do you not get along with your parents?”

I thought about it for a moment, trying to gauge how
much to reveal to a practical stranger. “We’re very different and I wanted a
chance to be on my own for a bit and discover who I am.”

“I understand that. Did you come here thinking you would
eventually go into Law?”

I hesitated, and he raised an eyebrow. I shifted again,
but for some reason I answered his question.

“Kind of. I mean, I told them I would after my BFA. I
feel a bit bad about that.” I looked down at my lap, biting my lip.

“Why is that?”

“Because they paid for me to come all the way here, and
I kind of lied to them,” I said softly.

“You changed your mind,” he corrected.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “There was
an option for me to complete a fifth year and get an MA so I could teach, but
they were insistent that I enter law. I think they’re mad that they ‘wasted’
money on my BFA.”

“I’m sure they’re happy you got an education and want
you to be happy. Most parents do.”

“I hope so.” It was making me uncomfortable talking
about myself, so I quickly changed the subject. “How did you end up in New
York?”

He flashed me a smile and picked up his beer, took a
swig. “I’m from small town Idaho. Like I said, I didn’t come from wealth. My
mother was a massage therapist and single mom. We were very poor and I wanted
to make something of myself. Investment Banking was an area I knew I was
interested in and could do very well in, and I have,” he added with a wink.
“New York is the place to be.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “I love it here.”

Dallon sat forward, leaned his arms on the table. “I’m
going to be very honest with you tonight, Amy. I don’t usually make this much
of an effort with a woman.”

I nodded slowly. He was probably used to women throwing
themselves at him, sure, but for some reason I believed he was trying harder
with me. So I asked the question I couldn’t
not
ask.

“Why me?”

He tilted his head slightly as if studying me. “I don’t
know exactly. Obviously you fit all the qualifications, but there is more to
it. A feeling I have around you. I haven’t experienced it before.” After a
beat, he asked, “Do you feel it?”

I tried to shrug casually, but I knew what he was
talking about: an energy pulling us together. Like I would know he was in a
room without having to look at him. Like if I did see him, my heart would leap
and I would get tingly and my spirits would soar just because he was there. But
how was that possible when I didn’t even know him?

“All I know,” he continued, lowering his voice and
looking at me intensely, “is that I am drawn to you, for lack of a better word.
I’m hoping that it means something, that we want the same things, and I’m not
going to ignore it.”

I chewed the inside of my lip. No matter my feelings
toward him, I couldn’t let myself get sucked in. I would only get hurt. This
man was gorgeous and rich—any woman would want him—and I was maybe slightly
pretty and a wannabe artist. What could I ever offer him that would compete
with any other woman? I was embarrassed to feel that about myself, but I had to
face the truth: some of us were better looking and more successful than the
rest of us.

“How many girlfriends have you had?” I asked, trying to
sound casual and failing.

Dallon frowned and sat back in his chair, took a sip of
beer before responding. His eyes never left me.

“One. It was in High School. After that, I never dated
again.”

“You just slept with women.” As much as I’d tried to
prevent it, my tone was critical. I looked away, feeling guilty for ruining
what had been a nice moment. To his credit, he didn’t flinch, and he didn’t
lie.

“Yes.” He watched me, letting me squirm while I
processed this.

“And the pictures?”

“Are you asking if I’ve ever done something like we did
the other night before?”

I nodded.

“Of course. But I think you already knew that. However,
I have never put an ad out before. The pictures I have taken have been with
women I’ve been with.”

“Women that let you take pictures of them while having
sex?” I asked in a low voice. My heart was racing.

He hesitated for a moment before responding. “Sometimes.
Some asked me to.” When I looked surprised, he added, “Begged me, actually.”

There was his arrogance again. I took a large sip of my
wine and he laughed.

“So why the ad?”

“Because I was looking for something very specific,” he
said slowly, looking at me with his intense gaze again. “In the ad I put a few
ranges and received hundreds of applications, but none of them fit the bill
like you.”

I frowned. “You didn’t have many blonde, five-foot-two
and 105 pound applications?”

He smiled as if trying to be patient with me. “It wasn’t
up for very long. I met with a few women, but I didn’t like them. Some of them
were bitchy, others seemed phony. Phoniness is a deal breaker for me.”

I considered this. That meant I only had to be worried
about tiny blonde women with genuine personalities, not the entire female
population of New York.

“So, you’ve never... been with someone that looks like
me?”

He smirked. “I wish.”

Again I had to ask it. “Why?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t
know. I mean, when I’m alone and I fantasize—” he stopped talking when I
blushed and took a sip of my wine again. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Miss
Clair?”

I put my glass down and just looked at his smiling face,
refusing to allow him to get under my skin. Eventually, he smirked and
continued on.

“I always think of someone that looks like you.” He
paused as if weighing whether or not to continue. “In fact, when I saw your
photo, I nearly fell off my chair. I thought: this is her.”

I swallowed. So I looked like the fantasy woman he
pleasured himself to. That was far from romantic. In addition, he could very
well have ideas of what this fantasy woman would be like, and would I live up
to her? Did it matter? He wanted me because of a fantasy. It was crazy.

“I love the photos of you and I would like to keep them,
but making you upset isn’t worth it to me,” he said softly. “I’d rather know
you.”

I ran my finger along the wooden grain of the table.
“There isn’t that much to know.”

“Bullshit!” he practically roared, and I jumped a little
in my seat. “Do you think that little of yourself?”

“I don’t know,” I answered shakily. I hadn’t expected
that strong a reaction.

“Don’t say anything like that again to me, understood?”
His jaw was twitching. He was really angry, his eyes boring into me with enough
intensity to make me wince.

I nodded, unable to look at him. The truth was, he’d
embarrassed me by calling me out on my insecurities.

“Good. Never speak badly of yourself. That’s one of the
most important lessons I’ve learned.”

“Dallon King’s recipe for success?”

He chuckled. “Yes. Confidence is key. Though, like I
said, I do find your modesty refreshing. It’s as if you put an act on for the
world, pretending you’re just a regular person. But I can sense there’s more to
you—and only one special person will be able to break down those walls.”

Whoa. I reached for my glass of wine to take another
sip, smiled embarrassedly when I realized it was empty. Dallon immediately
motioned to the server and ordered me another.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“You’re very welcome.” He smiled, his eyes warm, and I
looked away. As much as I was trying to resist, he was making his way into my
heart. I knew I should tell him I had to go and stop this conversation. My head
knew nothing good could come of it—that he had major issues—but my heart was
screaming to give him a chance, to let him in.

I wanted to know him too.

The server returned with my wine and after I took a sip
and put my glass down, Dallon reached out and put his hand on mine. Shivers
tingled all the way up my arm and into my belly. I looked up and stopped
breathing. He was smiling at me with a tender expression, his eyes moist. At
that point, I knew I was already lost, that I had been lost since the moment I
met him, and nothing that had happened since had changed that.

He was in.

“Will you give it a shot?” Dallon asked, tracing his
finger over the top of my hand, his brilliant blue eyes on my lips. It was very
distracting.

“I can’t,” I whispered, removing my hand. “When I
realized you had those photos of me, I felt... dirty.”

“Why? You look beautiful in them.”

“I was referring to the one you sent me. I was afraid
you might send it somewhere and the idea of other people seeing it terrified
me.”

“I would never do that,” Dallon said in a voice that
sounded like a low growl. “I would never send
any
of the pictures I took
to anyone, and the idea of anyone else seeing that picture in particular
absolutely disgusts me. I would never do that to you, Amy. I would never do
that to anyone.”

I shrugged. “Things happen. Someone could come across
them.”

“True. I suppose I could die and someone could find
them.”

I flinched, not wanting to think about him dying.

He reached into his bag, pulled out his camera. “Here,”
he said, passing it to me. “I haven’t taken any pictures since then. Scroll
through and delete them.”

I accepted it carefully. He was handing me his most
valued possession and letting me delete them myself. I was surprised he was
following through, let alone letting me do the deed myself. I put the camera on
the table gently, not quite ready to look at them.

“The picture you sent me…” I began, unable to look at
him, “Did you save that somewhere? On your computer maybe?”

The corner of his lip twitched, but he managed to look
serious again. “To my phone so I could send it, but I deleted it right away. I
also deleted the email I sent you.” His face broke into a smirk. “I like that
one.”

“I don’t!” I snapped, my cheeks heating.

He shrugged. “I suppose you didn’t like it when it
happened, either. Had you ever been spanked before?”

I shook my head, blushing like crazy and unable to look
at him. What kind of question was that?

“Good. I’m glad I was your first.”

I glared at the wall. I didn’t have to ask if I was his
first.

“Did you like it?” There was a hint of amusement to his
voice.

I turned to glare at him. He was smirking, one arm on
the table, fingers absently stroking his glass.

Douche.

He laughed, presumably at my expression. “I’m not asking
if you liked getting spanked, Amy, though I’m dying to know. What I meant is,
what did you think when you saw the picture?”

“I was embarrassed and angry,” I said without
hesitation.

“And?”