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Bright green, mischievous eyes blink up at me. “Yes, you will.”
“I won’t. I’ll sit in the lobby and wait.”
This isn’t the damn pole class. This isn’t a group event of seduction like the damn dance number she did while swinging around a pole, her legs spreading so wide I swear I could see her—
I clear my throat. “No, Remington. That’s going too far.”
“I can’t do this on my own.”
“It’s your first time?” She doesn’t have a clue what she’s gotten herself into.
“No.” She scoffs like I’ve insulted her breeding like she’s a peasant. “I just always have someone with me.”
“Like Phillip Warren?” My words are a low hiss, and I fucking knew that guy was dipping his fucking pen in the company ink, despite his denial.
Her eyes dart away. I’ll fucking kill him.
“Remi.”
“Not him. I don’t think his boyfriend would’ve minded though. Is that your problem?”
It’s her turn to press her body against mine, and my grip tightens slightly in an effort not to release her arm and wrap my arm around her waist and hold her close to my chest.
“Do you have a boyfriend waiting back home for you?”
I chuckle at her ludicrous question. I don’t say a word because even though I’m straight, no one should ever have to justify their sexual orientation or defend their choices in that manner.
“A girlfriend?”
I continue to stare, my lip wanting to twitch in humor at her probing questions.
“A fiancée?”
I cock an eyebrow, wondering how far she’s going to take it.
She pulls away with a hiss, her eyes darting down to my empty left hand. “A wife!”
The woman’s smile drops completely, her eyes darting to the side, and I imagine she’s wondering if she should call security.
“I’m not married nor in a relationship, Remington. If I were with someone, I never would’ve kissed you. I’m not like the imbecilic boys you’ve probably dated. Real men don’t cheat.”
She swallows, her delicate neck working on a swallow.
“Now tell me.” I take a step closer, closing all distance between the two of us. The rise and fall of her chest push her perfect tits against my chest. “How many times did Phillip Warren watch you get your little pussy waxed?”
“Wh-what?”
“Your pussy,” I repeat, just the words on my lips having the power to make me thicken down south. “How many times was he in the room with you?”
“N-none. I lied. I always go in alone.”
I’m man enough to admit my dick is hard at the mere thought of seeing her splayed out on a table, completely bare. Add in another woman—hey, I can’t control what turns me on—touching her most intimate spots, although not in a sexual way, and I’m close to breaking my own damn rules. Surely, there’s a broom closet or something we can sneak into for a few minutes—scratch that, a couple hours.
“Then you’ll go in alone today. I’ll wait out here.”
She darts her eyes over her shoulder at the counter. Two more women have joined the first, but they don’t look alarmed at us having this whispered conversation in the middle of their lobby. The two new ones stare past Remington at me, one going so far as to tilt her head to get a better look.
Remington practically sneers in her direction. Hello, little green monster. It shouldn’t make me ecstatic to see her feeling a hint of the jealousy that slammed me in the chest just thinking Warren—gay or not—went into that damn room with her.
“Get it over with.” I take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between the two of us.
“You’re going in with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what’s going to keep me from climbing out the window?”
Like a Rolodex, my mind shuffles through the list I’ve memorized that Warren left for me. Fuck, Muse was on that damn list.
“How long has it been since you’ve been waxed?” My mouth clamps shut. That’s none of my damn business. I have to bite the inside of my cheek, the pain keeping my mind from picturing her in her bikini bottoms, trying to remember if I saw any—
“That’s an insanely personal question to ask a woman.”
“What I mean,” I grind my teeth together, “is you either haven’t been waxed or you stopped running from Warren while visiting.”
“I didn’t stop getting waxed.”
Oh God. She stays completely bare? My mouth runs dry, but I blame the lack of oxygen in the room for that.
“He brought that creepy gardener with him to stand outside when I came. I’d never chance that man touching me.”
I’ve met the gardener. He seems like a decent guy, but it’s not my place to tell someone they shouldn’t listen to their instincts.
“Should I call him?” I pull my phone from my pocket, and her eyes widen.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Ms. Blair? Sonya’s ready for you.”
Calling my bluff, she spins on her heels and walks toward the hallway.
