Overestimated Perfection (II)

(Part 1: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/03/overestimated-perfectionn-i.html)

From his expression on his face to the hand on my waist, I hated him, his attraction to this changed figure. I knew he wasn't to blame, he was a man, a man of carnal desires, for a vision of beauty to accompany his night. But I was to cloud my personal feelings, they were irrelevant to the moment.
"Aceline."
"Beautiful," he muttered moving his face ever so slightly closer to mine. With careful progression, I laced my fingers into the curls of his hair, wondering if pulling at clumps could be discounted as a wild act of passion. He looked at me with a tilted head, however did not move in any closer. He looked experienced, countenance said it all, but hell was he moving slow. Peripherals reported hands on thighs and lips on necks with fluttering lashes. Beauty was not the answer; could I have thought of a more irrational decision. Those with mouths over glass bottles made better decisions than I had. One breath in told me that he hadn't been wallowing in alcohol. He also did not yet have his body pressed against mine, just hands cradling the small of my back to ease me forward according to his pace.
We were inches apart, hovering in some sort of preparation stage. Some couples of convenience had left the room. Then he took my jaw and dared me to turn my head again. Cheek to cheek and whisper to ear, "Tell me a secret."
"What about?"
"Whatever you want."
"What would you give me for it?"
"That's fair." He led me back to his sitting position on the couch--none were left to occupy the room with us. He sat in quiet consideration, his brow creased in a few places and his eyes cast ever so slightly to the right of my face. Our bodies were so separate, despite the gentle caress of his pant leg against the bare skin of my legs. "I would give you..." The drawn out sound of the last syllable of the word, held during the final decision of words, emulated a reflective epiphany, a soft personal exclamation. "Anything you ask."
"Trusting. Or unreasonable?"
"Or the fact that you know the value of your secrets more than any other."
Profound. "What are you doing here anyways? I don't think you would come here to hear the secrets of girls with little circumstance. If you wanted valuable secrets, you would go somewhere else."
"Let's just say I'm a man of curiosity."
"That curiosity could get you in trouble one day."
"So people tell me," he said less directly. "But that doesn't seem to deter me."
"Explaining your presence here."
"Yes." He smiled with charm and finally shifted closer. I wonder how many women melt at that smile.
"Well, let's see, you want me to think of a secret. Something worth at least your time. Hmmm."
He danced his fingers into my hair as I sat in silence.
I thought of childhood memories, but those were easily dismissed, though carelessly, as they are at the root of one's very being. What did I want from him? That would be important to consider. If I wanted something from him I would have to see him again. Did I want to see him again? Also important to consider. Would it be unprofessional to see him again? Oh hell with work, I hate my job. Secret secret secret.
He was memorizing her features at that moment. The fingers in her hair escaped to the outline of her face. Lustful thoughts had crossed his mind every minute he was with her, but he did not want to lust for her. She seemed to have substance. He wanted her, for longer than one night.