The lace stretches tight and I feel it everywhere. “Only up top. Down below, it’s nothing but sturdy, abusive cotton.”

“What do they say? Right now?”

“Oh yeah. They say …” I lean up to his ear. “None of your business.”

“Your jeans are tight enough that I can almost make it out.” His fingers are on my hips now, sliding into my belt loops. The tiny tug he gives me rocks me another half inch into him. I’m turned on. In public, on another goddamn stool.

“Hey, you’re blushing. That’s a pretty pink.” He presses a kiss on my cheekbone, sits back, and smirks in Vince’s direction.

With each second, the light is changing on the planes of Tom’s face and he’s looking more like a stranger. I couldn’t care less if Vince is watching. “I swear, if you’re just messing with me …”

His eyes spark in memory, and he uses my own words. “What is it like, being messed with by me?”

“You’re so good at it, I’m starting to sweat.” I blow out a breath. “Seriously, don’t try this on anyone else tonight. I’ll break her face.”

“If I was really good at this, I’d tell you what I’d do when I got you home.” He visibly checks himself, sitting straighter, reaching for his beer. He sips it and his eyes look at his watch.

Meanwhile, my body is absorbing what he just said, and it needs an answer. “Come back. Don’t stop.”

He puts his hand on my bare shoulder and there’s a slow, warm squeeze. My nipples pinch. He sees everything, through the lace and the silk. I know he does, because his orange-stripe eyes are going black. “I’ve been wondering. What does hungry skin feel like?”

“I just start feeling hollow, and lonely.” My throat is so dry I have to pick up my wineglass and tip it all into my mouth. His touch brings me relief, but also a restlessness. There are too many people in this room. They’re all a bunch of laughing, drinking jerks who don’t know that they need to get out. This is my room and my person.

He’s watching his own hand as he touches me. It’s unbearably sexy. “I don’t like the thought of you being all hungry.”

Someone jostles me and Tom’s eye line cuts above my head. He transmits a male warning: Don’t touch her. The air behind me quickly cools, his denim knees clasp gently, and he refocuses on me. It’s intoxicating, being tucked so safe inside this gold bubble.

I really need to keep up with this conversation. “I just get crabby and irritated. Big surprise, I know I’m always like that. But I just need to feel someone else … It eases off the sharpness inside. It really is an actual thing. Skin hunger. I read a study about it.”

“I think it’s because you’re a twin,” Tom says, and his hand lifts away from me, leaving me cold. “You were squashed up together in the womb for so long.” A tiny hologram of Jamie is hovering somewhere, Princess Leia–like, in our vicinity.

“No, no, come back.” I press his hand back down onto my skin and although his mouth has a hint of disapproval, he strokes me in a way that feels like praise.

“Like a rose petal, DB.” The fingertips trail, gentler than I thought possible; he’s thinking about my softness and it’s making me crazy. He’s getting shy, then glances casually to one side at Vince. When he looks back he’s got an edge to his stare.

“If you were mine, I’d be careful with you. I bet that’s something you haven’t had much of.”

My stomach falls down an elevator shaft. Those words, spoken aloud in his voice, crackle through my synapses, and right now, I’ve never been more alive. I am heartbeat and full lungs. If you were mine. What a glorious thought to cross his mind; I never imagined it would.

“What else would you do?” I’ve got that husky voice he likes.

The animal in him is honest with me. “Everything. If you were mine, I’d do everything.” Our gold bubble locks shut, and a little universe fills it. The possibilities are infinite.

“I have a big imagination. Could you be more specific?” I put my hand on the side of his neck and stroke down to the hard bar of his collarbone. His skin is hot satin. His pulse nudges me.

Mine, mine, mine. One thousand percent mine until the end of time. He looks like he agrees.

“Everything you wanted or needed, I’d do it.” Amazing how he can keep it clean, but it feels so dirty. That’s the thing about good boys.

“I want and need a lot.”

A big white smile now. “No kidding. Well, I’m a hard worker.”

I need to get to the reason we’re here tonight. It’s so obvious. We’re about to lay some ground rules before we go home and demolish each other.

“So, are we having our talk?” When he says nothing, I gesture with my fingertips. “The bubble is officially in place.”

He looks to one side, like it’s something he’d be able to see. He’s always gone along with my imaginary scenarios. When we make eye contact again, he sees the affection in me. But what I’ve said has tripped him up and he can’t find his words.

I try to lead him into it. “It’s pretty clear what we need to talk about.”

He sits up straight and lets out a breath. There’s a worried pinch to his brow and an awkwardness in his hands as he straightens his drink coaster. “I wanted to talk to you about taking the wall down between the kitchen and the living room.”

I’m good at automatically laughing when I’m disappointed, and I do it now. He probably knows that little tic. I pick up my glass and it’s empty. “Okay, we didn’t need to go out to talk about that. The answer’s no.”

The charade slipped into real, and I felt like we were on a date. That maybe I could be his. Thank goodness he’s not looking at me anymore; I’m hot and embarrassed. He’s got a pen and he’s drawing on the back of his coaster. It’s a floor plan of the cottage.

“Buyers want open-plan living. These older cottages were always built as small individual rooms, so they could be heated. But the walls block the flow and light. I think this wall needs to go.” He scribbles across a line to show me.

“That’s the fireplace. Where will the new owner hang up their bras?”

“The clothesline. This wall isn’t a supporting wall. If we just take it out, the light comes in from three sides. When buyers walk in, they’ll see all the way to the back door, and they’ll think it’s a big, bright place.” Tom the professional is talking now. “The flooring will all match, front door to back, and there’ll be a sense of flow.”

“I know what you’re saying, but no. That fireplace is a selling point.” I’m sitting in a business meeting. What on earth did I expect? “I can’t believe you’d even ask me this.”

“Even if a buyer did want a fireplace, that one has got serious issues. The bricks are collapsing inward. I got the quote from the chimney guy. It’ll cost a fortune to restore. We’d have to demolish it and rebuild it.”

“You could do that, I bet. It’s just bricks. You just said you’d do everything. That’s what I want.”

“Then I’d have to redo the roofing, replaster, paint. I take it out, it solves so many problems.” He looks like he’s beginning to panic. I can’t be reasoned with.