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“The vinegar worked?”
“Yeah. The pain you’re feeling, I can relate.” His eyes hold a measure of sympathy as they meet mine. I study him for a second, debating my next move. His jaw clenches, and he finally breaks the silence. “Am I doing this, Khloe?” he asks, and even when frazzled with my obstinance, he’s still so goddamn sweet and charming I think I might get a toothache.
“Has anyone ever said no to you?” I ask.
He responds with, “The vinegar works. I promise.”
“Vinegar it is, then,” I say.
“Stay put, okay?”
I nod and he disappears into what I assume is the master bathroom. Drawers open and close, and a minute later he comes back with a spray bottle and tweezers.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he says, his mouth tight, like he knows this is going to hurt. “But this might sting a bit.”
“It’s already stinging. Besides, I can handle a little pain.” As soon as the words leave my mouth and I catch a grin curving his kissable lips, I wish I could get them back, swallow them down into the depths of my stomach, never to be heard from again.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe I should sleep with him, get this insane arousal out of my system so I can talk and act like a woman who isn’t obsessed with sex. But he’s my boss, and we both have rules about that.
“Good to know,” he says, his voice an octave deeper. “Take a big breath, Khloe.”
I do as he says, and his gaze drops from my mouth and moves to my expanding chest. That’s when I become acutely aware that I’m in a revealing bathing suit, and my nipples are pressing hard against the thin material, making my current arousal painfully obvious. Why am I constantly in revealing clothes around this guy?
“Okay,” he says gruffly. “Okay, okay,” he repeats, like he’s talking to himself and trying to pull it together. He mutters what sounds like a curse and turns his attention to my sting.
“Tell me what you used to do for a living,” he says, and I get that he’s trying to distract me as he uses the tweezers to pull the first tentacle off.
“My dream is to someday write a book,” I say, hedging the question.
“Oh yeah? What kind of book?”
“Maybe a thriller. I love psychological thrillers and horror.”
He casts me a quick glance. “Really? I never would have guessed.”
“No?”
“I would have thought something along the line of satire.”
“And why is that?” I give him a sassy look that suggests he knows nothing.
“That’s why,” he says with a laugh. “You’ve got a sharp tongue.”
“You don’t know anything about my tongue,” I shoot back. His hand stills over my leg, trembles a tiny bit, and my mind once again goes off in an erotic direction, envisioning him getting to know my tongue better by pressing his lips to mine.
“Just one left,” he mutters and steadies his hand enough to pull off the last tentacle.
“Not so bad,” I say, until he sprays the open wound with whatever is in that bottle. I let out an ungodly scream, and I’m pretty sure I pierced Will’s eardrums judging by the way his face is contorting.
I grab the spray bottle from him. “What is this fresh hell?” I read the label. “Sting No More. It’s clearly mislabeled. It stings twice as bad.”
“Give it a second,” he says, a grin playing with the corner of his mouth. “The vinegar will neutralize the venom.”
“My day is just getting better and better.” I toss the bottle to the bed, but lo and behold the pain starts to settle.
“Good?” he asks.
