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—Elsa Schiaparelli
A migrating flock of geese flew in V formation past the bathroom window. Tony admired their military precision and dedication as he rubbed a towel across his wet hair. Doubtful any of the males in the group broke out of the lineup just to get wild with one of the females. Nope. They followed the order of things.
He dragged the towel across his chest. It was a shitty day when geese had a better sense of self-preservation than he did.
The gray-and-black flyers disappeared from view and the buzzing at the base of his cock started up again. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped the towel around his hips cursing the morning wood that wouldn’t go away—not while Sylvie’s lavender scent wafted under the closed door of the bathroom, filling the traitorous body part with bad ideas.
A soft giggle erupted from the other side, making him all the more tense.
He wouldn’t look at the bathroom door again.
He.
Would.
Not.
He looked at the bathroom door again. The one that led to his bedroom. Where Sylvie had spent the night. In…an oversized T-shirt? Something see-through and lacy? Yoga pants? Nothing at all? The possibilities made his mouth water and his chubby stiffen into a full-on boner.
Walking more bowlegged than normal, he crossed to the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. His hand hovered next to the can of Barbasol and disposable razor for a moment before closing the mirrored door and opening the cabinet under the sink instead. He rooted past a stack of towels and three rolls of toilet paper until his hand landed on his leather shaving kit and pulled it out. The fancy shaving cream with a badger-hair shaving brush and aftershave had been a gift last Christmas. Really, it was about time he used it.
He’d whipped up the cream in a cup and was brushing it across his stubble when the door flew open.
“Drea, you are such a dork. I will not walk around the house wrapped in Saran Wrap. Where do you read this shit?” Phone glued to her ear, Sylvie stepped into the bathroom, wearing a green tank top that dipped low between her boobs and the world’s smallest pair of green panties. Her honey-brown hair fell in waves around her face, making it look as if she’d just rolled out of bed after a good time.
If only.
In a heartbeat he understood what those annoying commercials meant about painful erection. Damn, he’d never been this hard.
She stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” The words rushed out of her luscious mouth and her cheeks blazed. “Not you, Drea. I just walked in on Tony. In the bathroom. No,
he’s not naked—” Her gaze dropped to his bare chest and continued south. “He’s wearing a towel… A, um, small towel,” she squeaked out before slapping her hand over her eyes. “Oh. My. God.” She reeled backward out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of her just-been-fucked hair, muscular thighs, curvy hips, and magnificent tits had seared itself onto the back of his eyelids. He’d be seeing it every time he closed his eyes until he was eighty.
“Fuckin’ A.” He dropped the shaving brush back into the cup and splashed cold water over his face. It did nothing to alleviate the throbbing in his cock.
He was considering an ice-cold shower when Sylvie rapped on the door.
“I’m really sorry about that, Tony,” she said, the door muffling her voice. “I didn’t realize anyone else was up.”
He gritted his teeth. Oh, yeah. He was up, all right.
He reached for the doorknob before he remembered towels did not qualify as proper boner concealment. He yanked his hand away as if the knob was covered in green snot.
“My fault,” he called. “I should have locked the door. Anyway, I have to make a run into Harbor City this morning.”
“Did you get a new lead?” The hopeful note in her voice flicked him in the nads.
“Nah.”
Even though she’d crossed Ivy off her suspect chart, he wasn’t so sure. Sylvie wouldn’t be too pleased to hear that he was taking his IT guy to check out Ivy’s computer, and there was no way he’d take her with him…on the off chance Ivy went batshit crazy.
“We need to talk about what happened last night,” she said.
His cock drooped a few degrees. The last thing he wanted was to discuss how he’d come all over her hand like a horny teenager on prom night. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Not asking.”
