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“Yeah, but I made it easy.”
“If it hadn’t been you, it would have been the next guy.”
“Way to make me feel special.” He heaved a sigh. “Anyway, I have to get back to the Coffee Emporium site. I’m sorry, my dude, but if you’re going to cancel Ellis’s contract, you’re eventually going to have to call him back and tell him yourself—then you’ll have to explain things to Ryan and Ethan. They’re going to want to know why.”
“Damn it.” She sat up, every inch of her body aching in ways that might have been pleasant if the evening had ended more happily. “Do me a favor and tell them that you slept with him and that’s what made it awkward?”
“And end my marriage? If I ever slept with a guy and didn’t at least let your sister watch, she’d leave me in a heartbeat.”
Juliet covered her ears and started singing loudly and off-key. The problem with hanging out with family is that sometimes you got information you really didn’t want.
He held up his hands to make her stop. Cautiously, she uncovered her ears.
“It’s been fun busting your balls about this, but seriously—are you okay? Did he hurt you or something?”
Juliet could feel her face heating right past red to full-on purple. One of the shitty things about being so pale—she and her siblings were all supernaturally gifted when it came to blushing.
“No . . . he wasn’t abusive or anything—we’re just . . .” She shifted, then winced from the layers of bruising she seemed to be sitting on. “Incompatible.”
He grumbled, but dropped the subject and left, but not before he raided her fridge for a Pepsi.
It took another ten minutes to convince herself to get out of bed and shower again, then another five minutes standing in front of the full-length mirror behind the door checking out all the bruises he’d left. She poked at the marks, and tentatively she let herself remember the feel of his hands on her, his masculine scent, the feel of being at his mercy.
She shuddered, but the quiver that had caused it went straight though her core to her still-aching privates. No, not privates. Her pussy.
She liked the unapologetic way he used dirty words and didn’t try to make sex sound pretty. That had always felt dishonest to her. Sure, sex could be “making love” with some people, but most of the time it was the fulfillment of a base need.
Things between them had been base, all right. His slaps to her pussy. His belt. God, she’d even let him fuck her with a crop handle. He’d made her beg then hadn’t given her what she needed. Those weren’t acts of love, but the small degradations were making her hot even with a NyQuil-induced night’s sleep between then and now. She was ashamed she’d let him do those things, but she was also ashamed she’d freaked out and bolted. Obviously, the kinky stuff wasn’t for her. Some people could handle it, but she was just way too vanilla to do that sort of thing on a regular basis. Once had been an experiment—everyone experimented, right? She’d skipped that stage in college, so she’d just tried something most other people had tried before.
Except, instead of letting her boyfriend handcuff her to the headboard, or put a cute blindfold on her, she’d let a BDSM club owner she’d just met bring her up to his private dungeon and fuck her with an inanimate object.
. . . and he wasn’t the only one who knew. His friend Dex knew. Scotty knew she’d been with him and would probably tell Sadie, who would figure out the kinky parts of it. Ryan and Ethan were probably going to find out.
She climbed back into bed and buried her head under her pillow, wishing she’d accidentally suffocate so she didn’t have to face people.
Her phone was buzzing on her nightstand again. This time she actually checked it. William—oh, and she had sixteen missed calls.
Enough hiding. She answered.
“Stride Designs, Juliet speaking,” she said brightly, glad he couldn’t see her blotchy face and blotchier ass and thighs.
“Thank fuck,” Will growled at the other end of the phone, sending a thrill of sexual terror through her. “Where the fuck have you been, woman?”
She squeezed her legs together, suddenly hyperaware she hadn’t bothered getting dressed after her shower.
“I’ve been in bed with a migraine, Mr. Ellis. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Don’t you fucking ‘Mr. Ellis’ me unless I have you on your knees, sunshine.”
She grimaced at the ceiling, a hot blush creeping up her neck, and she realized her back was arched a little as if to . . . show off he
r tits for him? Even his voice scrambled her brain. She wondered where he was. Maybe at his desk, where he kept all those dumb rulers for reasons she now understood.
Ugh.
This was not the kind of man to fantasize about. Embarrassment banished her arousal. Last night had been a one-off—a mistake—and it wouldn’t be happening again. It had been . . . research for the job.
She was a professional, and he had stolen that from her last night. She was damned well going to reclaim it, along with her self-respect.
