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ChapterFive
Many things happen at once.
My neck and ears catch fire, and my face feels redder than the Soviet flag. On autopilot, I turn off my vibrating panties and drop everything I was holding in my left hand. At the same time, I jerk my right hand out of my pants and wipe my fingers on my shirt. Because I’m classy like that.
The chocolate in The Russian’s eyes isn’t melted like it usually is. It’s solidified in shock as he stares at me. “Who are you, and what the fuck are you doing?”
His deep voice with its Eastern European accent is so sexy I almost reach my interrupted climax. But I don’t. Because even through my shock, I realize how horrifying this situation is.
My heart dances an intricate ballet in my chest as I blurt out, “This isn’t what it looks like.”
He narrows his eyes. “So your hand was not in your pants?” He casts a glance at the thong on the floor. “And you weren’t sniffing my dance belt?”
I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow—a mistake because I smell my sex on my fingers. “I mean… I’m not some crazy stalker.”
Is that dark amusement in his gaze? “So you didn’t break into my changing room? Or masturbate to my dance belt?”
I feel lightheaded—which should make it easier for the floor to engulf me on the spot.
Nope.
Still here.
Swallowing a jawbreaker-sized lump in my throat, I try again. “I did break in, but I had a good reason.”
A smirk twists his lips. “I’d love to hear it.”
Skunk. He’s called my bluff. Now what do I do? My thoughts are too muddled to come up with a good lie, or any lie, really. If only I had Gia in my ear right now. She’d know what to say. Magicians lie for a living, so she’s very good at it, or maybe she became a magician because—
Wait a sec. Thinking of Gia has given me an idea, and just in time. The Russian looks on the verge of calling security.
“It was a dare,” I blurt.
His smirk evaporates. “A dare?”
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “My sisters made me do it.”
And hey, they could have—at least when we were younger. Gia in particular was evil when it came to things like that. One night, she put my fingers in warm water to test the urban myth about wetting the bed… which turned out to be true. Also, owing Gia a favor often resulted in heaps of humiliation on par with what I’m feeling now.
“Your sisters?” He looks from me to his thong. “Sorority or biological?”
The best lies are the ones rooted in the truth, so as much as I want him to think I’m young and hip enough to be in a sorority, I tell him it was the latter, then add, “I have an aversion to most smells, so they thought it would be funny to make me play with myself as I sniffed your thong.”
There. Now that I’ve said it out loud, it actually sounds slightly more believable than the actual truth.
He frowns. “It’s a dance belt, not a thong.”
“Sure, a dance belt,” I say. There isn’t a big difference, but I’m in no position to split hairs right now.
He cocks his head. “So you claim that you were forced into doing this?”
I nod.
“Because you were supposed to hate it?”
I nod again, less confidently.
The smirk is back, and is too sexy for my sanity. “You didn’t look or sound like someone who hated what she was doing.”
