“And what purpose would that be?” she asked.
“Use your imagination.”
There was a brief hesitation before she spoke. She was usually rapid fire with her quips.
“And what makes you so certain I have any purpose in mind, or for that matter any interest in seeing your glorious manhood?”
“I never went so far as to suggest you did.”
It was at that moment he zipped up and turned around.
She shrugged. And even that move—an almost indecipherable lift of her chin, tilt of her head, and twitch of her shoulder—seemed different to him than when other women shrugged.
Why must everything she do be entirely unique? It makes it difficult to ignore her.
“You don’t have to be so sensitive,” she said. “It’s not as though you have anything I haven’t seen before.”
“And how can you be so certain?”
“Well, had you not put your precious package away, you might have confirmed it. I bet those men who just left wouldn’t have been afraid to turn around.”
“I’m not an exhibitionist, Miss Rivers.”
“A Formula 1 driver who’s not an exhibitionist. Now that’s a first.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “You may be right about that.” Narrowing his eyes, he paused. “The term definitely applies to the drivers you manage. But you don’t manage me.”
Her glance drifted south but quickly darted back up to meet his gaze. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe she didn’t need confirmation. Perhaps she’d gotten a good look when he’d swiveled to see her standing behind him.
He looked down.
Maybe she was just looking at my shoes.
“Don’t worry about your shoes,” she said. “Your aim was good. I guess it’s true what they say about F1 drivers.” She paused. “You know, rapid response, quick hands.”
There was a spark shaped like a question mark in her eyes. And it suddenly occurred to him the spark had been there for a while. He could guess why. She wasn’t accustomed to this version of him.
“Is that why you ventured into the men’s room?” He made an effort to adopt a cool tone, cursing the husky sound echoing in his ears. “To examine the stock before you bid on it?”
Her eyes flashed as the corner of her lip flicked like a horse’s tail. “I hadn’t really thought about it. You make me sorry I left my measuring tape at home.” Her eyes drifted down and landed at his crotch. “Yard stick too.”
You’re incorrigible.
He felt his cheeks prickle and burn.
That should make you happy. You’ve made me blush. Again.
He swallowed in an effort to regain his composure. “And is that how you—measurea man?”
“If it was, I would hardly admit it.”
He heard a buzzing. It had to be her phone. It wasn’t his.
He gaped, seeing her reach into her purse. “Don’t you think you should wash your hands first?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s not as if I had my hands on my penis.” Her eyes shot up. “Or yours.”
A sudden rage of heat told him a five-alarm fire was now scorching his cheeks and he quickly dropped his gaze.
