Thank God. His dick wouldn’t have survived walking in on that visual.

“I was curious! I’ve never met anyone who . . .” She gestured at her closed computer.

His chuckle reverberated low in his throat. “Why am I not surprised that you’ve never met an adult performer?”

“Oh. Is that the, um, preferred vernacular?”

“I guess it depends who I’m talking to.” He stopped to consider, sinking onto the sofa. People didn’t usually ask for his opinion on the matter. “I can’t speak for everyone, but if I’m with someone from the industry, I’m more likely to say performer. Porn star is the term I hear most often in a cultural context, and I’m fine with it as a more universal shorthand, even if it does feel a little goofy to apply it to myself.”

Clara eyed the couch wearily for a moment before joining him.

He’d meant to make this more comfortable for both of them by taking a seat. Not scare her further with his proximity. Josh reached out a hand to reassure her with a gentle pat on the arm, but pulled back at the last moment and tossed her the blanket hanging off the back of the sofa instead.

His life revolved around touching strangers. It was no wonder he had all these instincts to offer Clara physical comfort. He had to keep reminding himself that they hardly knew each other. Josh never worried that his job affected his mental state, but maybe he should.

He didn’t bat an eyelash at licking a strange woman’s pussy ten minutes after meeting her, so why did the idea of patting Clara’s forearm give him a thrill?

“Any other questions?” No one ever had only one when it came to his job. Better to get the inevitable inquisition over with now.

Clara wrapped the throw around her shoulders and Josh mourned the loss of the view.

“Yes. Sorry. What’s your name? Your real name, I mean.”

At least that one was easy. “It’s Josh. Joshua Conners.”

“Don’t tell me ‘Darling’ is your middle name?”

He shook his head ruefully. “Plenty of people spend a lot of time and energy coming up with a fake name when they go into porn, but I fell into mine. My first day on set, we had this crazy British director. The guy wore a beret unironically. Anyway, I walked up and introduced myself. He asked me my name, and I told him. I didn’t know any better.”

“You didn’t think to use the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on?”

“I’m not sure Dingus Winslow would have gone over well.” Josh warmed at the memory of his beloved hamster.

“Probably not.”

“It was dumb luck that every time the director wanted me to lift my leg or whatever he would yell out ‘Josh, darling.’ The PA on set that day must have thought it was my stage name. They took it down, and the next thing I know the video comes out and there it is in the credits.”

“How did you . . . ?” She cleared her throat. “Why do you . . . ? That is to say . . . How did you find yourself in this particular line of work?”

Ah yes. The careful Clara version of How did you end up fucking on camera?

“I used to valet for big Hollywood parties in the Valley. One night, some guy caught me going down on his wife in his Maserati. I thought for sure he’d hit me, but instead, he offered me a job if I could keep going and keep my hard-on while he watched. I was twenty-four and a college dropout. The idea that someone wanted to pay me to have sex sounded a hell of a lot better than trying to get a real job.”

Josh tried to gauge her reaction. She hadn’t fled from the room or curled her lip in disgust, so he kept talking.

“It turned out I had a knack for it. Not everyone can handle the stress of all the cameras and having to perform on command, you see.” He refused to admit any shame in that moment. He’d never let anyone make him feel bad about his work and he didn’t intend to start now. So what if Clara didn’t approve of his choices? She could get in line behind the long list of other people. A line that started with his mother.

A tiny crease formed between her brows. “But you must have considered other occupations?”

“Oh, I see. You’re fishing for my secret pain.”

She tugged on the hem of her shirt again. “Secret pain?”

“Yeah, you know. What terrible tragedy occurred to force me to take up a seedy career in adult entertainment? Why would anyone undamaged fuck for money, right?” He clenched his jaw.

He’d participated in this conversation countless times, especially with women who wanted to redeem him. If Clara found his job distasteful, she could walk out at any time. He would even lend a hand as she packed her bags.

“That’s not what I meant.” Clara rubbed her throat with an unsteady hand.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have a sob story. I like what I do and a lot of other people like what I do. In fact . . .” Even when they were sitting down, she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.

Her sooty lashes lowered. It wasn’t fair that she could make bashful look sexy.

“I think you like what I do.” He returned his gaze to her nipples with obvious innuendo.

“Excuse me.” She put a hand on his shoulder and gave a little shove. “I’ll have you know that I was watching that video through a very professional, even artistic, lens.”

He had to hand it to her, a lesser woman would never have managed to convey righteous indignation in that nightgown.

But all the gumption in the world hadn’t saved her from falling into his trap. “Great, so what did you think?”

“Of what?” The sounds she emitted amounted to more squeaks than words.

He dropped his hands to his lap, intentionally drawing her eyes below his waistline. “You know what.”

Her throat worked as she gulped. Stray locks of her dark hair clung to the damp skin of her neck.

“Well, I thought the performance seemed very . . . well executed. I can see how your methods would prove effective.” Her face filled with alarm. “Not that I was affected. Because, you know, that would be inappropriate.” Clara’s eyes shot nervously to his forearms and then back to the carpet, her clear refuge.

What was it with women and forearms?

He couldn’t resist flexing them by making a fist. “Ahh, yes. Well, I’m looking for strictly professional feedback.”

“Like constructive criticism?”

“I’m always looking to improve my craft,” he said, his voice just serious enough that she would have difficulty discerning whether he meant the request. He draped his arm across the back of the sofa. “And you seem like the kind of girl who would take notes.”

Chapter eight

CLARA CONSIDERED HOW much of the truth to withhold from the infuriatingly confident man sitting next to her. He’d already imprisoned her in this conversation. She ached to withhold any further satisfaction. Part of her wanted to tell Josh she found what he did degrading, if only to wipe the smirk from his mouth. She envisioned lifting up her nose to show him how far beneath her she found pornography as both an industry and an art form.

But she couldn’t do it.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, that video had achieved its desired ends.

She’d watched him have objectively great sex with a beautiful woman, and it had made her so hot her skin should have burst into flames.

Not because she wanted to sleep with him. No. It was because the words that best described her love life were tepid and careful.

In contrast, Josh had given the woman in that video pleasure that seemed shockingly wild and vivid. Now he wanted her to provide notes on his craft or, heaven forbid, his form? Lust still swarmed her brain like raging bees. She could barely think over the buzzing in her ears.

Sure, this was probably a mistake. Nothing more than a way for Josh to call her out on paying too much attention to a video of him having sex. But the lifelong student in her couldn’t pass up an opportunity for firsthand research.

The silence in the living room swelled, waiting for her reply. Finally, she let fly the words she’d held hidden under her tongue since he walked into the room. “You do that mouth thing a lot.”

His lips formed a perfect O—clearly, he had anticipated a different piece of feedback. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Clara desperately drew air past the vise around her throat. You’re a grown woman. You can do this. “Oral sex,” she said, taking great pains not to whisper it.

“On her or on me?”

“On her.” If the floor could open up and swallow her right about now, she would really appreciate it.

“And?” The blank look on his face said he was trying to follow the situation but not grasping her point.

“I found all your . . .” She prepped the next word on her tongue. “. . . mouth attention surprising.”

Josh looked around the room as if the lamp or coffee table might offer a translation of her feedback. “I’m not following you.”

Clara believed that he wasn’t being purposely obtuse. “It’s not really my cup of tea, I guess. Although the woman in the video certainly seemed to enjoy it, so I think we can mark it down as a matter of personal preference.” She folded her hands neatly in front of her.