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What the hell was I thinking coming here when I know damn well I’d make a perfectly decent stripper?
“Gosh, did you say his schedule’s full? Who knew he was such a popular guy?” I scramble to gather my stuff, hoping he won’t see me make a run for it. “Guess I’ll have to catch him next time. You’ve got my number in the system, so why don’t you just have your people call my people, and we’ll work something out, kay?”
She simply rolls her eyes, returning to her trashy magazine.
“Penelope?” Logan asks when he enters the lobby.
He’s sinful. Abso-fucking-lutely sinful in a crisp, white button-down that exposes his forearms, fitted charcoal pants, and black leather shoes. I guess he couldn’t be bothered to fix the top two buttons below his neck, but the sight of his tanned skin forces me to swallow.
Oh boy.
“Hi!” I shout too cheerfully, jutting my hand out for him to shake as if we’ve never met before.
I realize my mistake too late, when the boxes cradled in my arms clatter to the floor. Fate abandons me entirely when the lids pop open, and despite several people sitting in the waiting room, I groan, “Oh, fuck me.”
My knees hit the ground so hard it jars my spine, and my hands fly out to capture three of the seven vibrators currently buzzing, thrusting, and swirling across the floor.
“I think you’ve got that well under control, don’t you?” Logan’s grin is utterly salacious as he kneels to help me collect the bottles of lube that have rolled to his feet.
Our fingers brush when we reach for the same warming lubricant, and the static shock that ignites between them has me snatching my hand back.
“‘Cupcakes never tasted so good,’” he reads the label aloud. “Well, color me curious…”
“Will you shut up?” I hiss between clenched teeth, rubbing my stinging fingers against my thigh.
Margret’s cheeks burn with a blush that matches mine. Blanketed in horror, she scoots her chair away from one of the gyrating penises.
So much for Fate having my back, the cruel bitch.
“This was supposed to be kitchen supplies, dammit.”
I’m grabbing handfuls of lace panties and stuffing them back where they belong when Logan raises a purple, gyrating penis with a rabbit-shaped clitoral attachment between our faces. “You’re telling me this isn’t a scrubber?”
It buzzes in his palm before he switches it off, but it’s that arching brow and lone dimple which flushes my neck and face fully.
“Would you look at that? Mr. Straightlaced has a sense of humor.” I try to swipe the device from his grasp, but he only moves it higher, out of reach. “Hand Jorge Junior over, and nobody gets hurt.”
He studies me with genuine curiosity. “Where’s Jorge Senior?”
I shrug. “Had to put the poor guy down after a recent cleaning accident.”
A woman in the chair closest to us places a hand over her heart and whispers, “May he rest in peace.”
I nod, adding a sniffle for effect. “Thank you.”
Logan’s obnoxiously smug when he tosses the toy back into the box. “I had a feeling you’d come crawling back, but I wasn’t expecting you to bring me a present.”
His voice lowering huskily around the word ‘crawling’ makes my belly clench.
“These are off limits for you.” Stacking the boxes before rising to my feet, I search for some sense of familiarity in his expression. Something faintly recognizable that I can cling to without getting too close. “Unless, of course, you fancy having one shoved up your ass—in which case, I’ve got plenty of lube.”
He surprises me with a throaty chuckle, breaking his polished persona for a brief moment. “Margret, clear my schedule for the next hour while I meet with Miss Vance.”
Her eyes bounce back and forth between us before she dutifully nods. “Yes, sir.”
“I thought I needed an appointment?” I say, jumbling the boxes in my arms and following his lead down the hallway.
I coax my thundering heart to slow when he glances over his shoulder. “And now you have one.”
