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And it was bizarre, then, how she suddenly wanted to impress him with the force of her honesty.
“Maybe...” Again, that almost shake of his head, and she pulled in a shaky breath. And dropped themaybe. “I wanted to see what was in this room.”
“Why?”
“I guess...”
“Don’t guess. Tell me.”
It occurred to Rory to wonder why she was still standing there, trying to impress a man who looked as if nothing could ever impress him. Or worse, as if she was desperate to keep talking to him when she didn’t even know his name.
When he obviously—and rightly, something in her piped up, straight from that flush of shame inside her—thought the worst of her.
“I guess I’m the curious type.”
“You guess? Or you are?”
She had no idea why she felt chastened. Or why she, who could talk to anyone about anything and usually did, stood there. Silenced.
“Not only curious,” he continued. “You thought you should document your findings. What do you plan to do with those pictures you took?”
Rory had completely forgotten that her mobile was in her hand. She stared down at it, as if it was a scarlet A branded on her palm. “I... I don’t know.”
“Don’t you?”
Her cheeks felt even hotter than before. “I take a lot of pictures. And okay, I post some of them online. All of my friends are back in the States, and I like to make it clear that I made good choices in coming to Paris. Plus, you know, I have followers.”
“Followers,” he repeated, as if the word felt foreign and unpleasant on his tongue. “Are you a student?”
“Um, no. I graduated from college almost four years ago.”
“A tourist, then. Cleaning houses for fun as you travel? Or perhaps to raise money for the next leg?”
“It’s actually my company,” she said, and she felt as if she was back on even ground again. Or more even ground, anyway. “CleanWorks is more than just a housecleaning service. I like to call it an artisan experience thatresultsin housecleaning.”
“Does this experience normally include an invasion of your clients’ privacy, or is that a bonus?”
He didn’t move when he said that, and still, she felt it like a shock to her system. A literal electric shock. As if he’d leaped across the space anddone somethingwith his hands—
Though she almost staggered back a step when she realized that no small part of her wished he had. What washappeningto her?
“I really did think the door was left open because you wanted this room as part of your clean this time,” she said loftily, because it was better to double down on something that he couldn’tprovewas untrue. “My bad. I’ll just pack up—”
“No,” he said in the same mildly reproving way, all steel and disappointment, shaming her all over again, “you did not think that. And I believe I’ve already told you that I dislike lies.”
She took a breath and realized she couldn’t remember if she’d done that in a while. And once she did, she could again feel the wild racket her heart was making.
Meanwhile, that ache in her pussy was bordering on astonishing. She felt...slippery.
And something like needy.
“Do you know what I use this room for?” he asked.
“Unless it’s an art installation, I imagine you use it for sex,” Rory replied, matter-of-factly.
She had always taken particular pleasure in being provocative. In talking about sex as if she’d done it all a thousand times over, for example, to people who expected her to stammer or blush. She liked to give them a direct stare, a faintly superior sort of smile, and a frankness they never saw coming.
But none of that worked here. With him.
