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21
MIRANDA
On Monday afternoon, I dropped by Lachlan’s apartment to retrieve my phone.
When the police called Lachlan, his body tensed. But as the conversation progressed, color returned to his face, which helped me breathe again. I’d developed a bad habit of taking my emotional cues from the ever-changing landscape of Lachlan’s moods.
He ended the call, a perplexed expression on his face.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
“I’ve got to go in now. The Pollocks have been located.”
My jaw dropped.
He nodded. “The insurance company sent their investigators after I put in a claim. Although measly compared to the entire collection, it was still twenty million.”
“They found Florian?” I asked. “That sounds too easy.”
“Either that, or Interpol didn’t try.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have to go there now. To the station.”
“And I have to return to the warehouse. I’m setting up a new exhibition. But I can’t wait to hear about it.”
“Me too. I’ll keep you posted.” He kissed me and rubbed my butt. “What are you wearing? Granny panties?”
“Yes, I’ve gone all Brigit Jones.” I giggled.
“I have no idea what you mean by that. But they’re kind of sexy.”
“That’s what Hugh Grant said.”
He shook his head and pulled a face. “I’m not into girly films.”
“I’ve noticed.” He’d had me watch one Thor movie too many. The only thing I liked about those films was how similar Chris Hemsworth was to Lachlan. They shared twinkling blue eyes and sexy buff physiques.
We rode the elevator down and his hands hooked inside my pants again. “What happened to the little panties?”
“You ripped mine off this morning, remember? And these were the quickest I could find on the way to work. I couldn’t exactly turn up without, could I?” I cast him a teasing smile.
“Not with Mr. Lover Boy sniffing about.”
“Sniffing about?” I laughed.
“Men smell sex. And you smell of sex.”
“Ick.” I frowned. “But I shower.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He burrowed his finger between my folds then removed it, placed it in his mouth, and sucked on it. “Mm… I love the smell of your pussy. The dirtier, the better.”
My pussy burned, even though his comment was on the filthy side of sick.
His hands crept under my blouse and rubbed my nipples. I felt his erection against my thigh.
“You make me hot, Miranda.”
I laughed. “We had sex only this morning. In the shower. Remember?”
Our morning antics had come after a night of fucking in a variety of positions that would have put yoga freaks to shame.
