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I sigh. “Do you even know what that word means?”
“Don’t be like this. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not being like anything. I said we’d be cordial because we move in the same circles, but that doesn’t mean we’re ever going to fuck again.” The idea makes my balls want to shrivel up.
“She’s done a number on you, clearly.” She slides an arm around my waist and leans her head on my shoulder. “I miss you, K.”
“Claudia, what the fuck are you doing?” I try to unhook my arm from her grasp but she latches on like a rabid dog.
“You know nobody can please you like I can. Stop being such a party pooper. I’ll be back in New York next week…”
I’m about to open my mouth and tell her she’s two seconds away from being humiliated in front of an entire room of people, but then I see Imogen walking toward me.
I gaze at her curiously. She’s holding her champagne glass in her hand and she’s staring right at me.
“Khristian, sweetheart,” she says, her eyes flicking to Claudia briefly. I try to keep my eyes on hers and not on those swaying hips. “I couldn’t help noticing you look like you need rescuing.”
My mouth pops open as she slides her gaze back to me.
“Well, well, the little mouse has a backbone after all,” Claudia scoffs. I remove the glass from her mid-sip and place it on the table next to me. She doesn’t need any more alcohol. “Khristian was just telling me how he usually doesn’t date women without a thigh gap.”
She truly is disgusting.
I turn and look down at her, about to give her a piece of my mind when Imogen says, “Oh, he doesn’t seem to mind when my thighs are wrapped around his head and I’m screaming his name, do you, Mr. Petrov?” She skates her hands up my chest and my breath hitches. She’s so fucking gorgeous.
I smirk. “I certainly don’t.”
“I don’t know who you are, nor do I care,” Imogen says, staring Claudia down. “But please keep your hands to yourself. You look so desperate it’s embarrassing.”
Ouch. My little rose has a spitfire in her after all.
I smile, proud of my girl as Claudia gasps in surprise.
“Is she for fucking real?” she gripes, her face an emotionless pit of botox.
Imogen ignores her. “Khristian, can we go now? I’m bored, tired and I need to fuck you.”
My smile turns into a grin. “How can I possibly refuse such a request?”
We leave Claudia gaping and angry as Imogen pulls me across the room toward the exit.
“Wait, we can’t leave Morgan and Johans,” I say.
She turns around. “Morgan is well on her way to getting lucky, and Johans slipped out about twenty minutes ago with a busty blonde. I think we’re good.”
I pull her to me when we’re outside. “That was so fucking hot.”
“Morgan told me she was your ex but I recognized her from the photos.”
“Trust me. She’s my ex for a reason.”
“Why was she touching you?”
“I was trying to shrug her off. She’s like a leach.”
I like how Imogen took the reins and was confident enough to strut her stuff and come over and stake her claim. That fucking turns me on.
“Then don’t let her touch you again,” she says, turning to face me. “I didn’t know until I met you that I have a jealous streak. Having any woman touch you is like torture, but your beautiful ex-girlfriend?”
