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But she was over that whole sorry episode in her life and over him too. It hadn't taken much of an emotional toll on her, but Marcy suspected she'd curled back into her shell before she could release her 'sex goddess.'
Kensley didn’t need sex.
End of story.
Marcy strongly disagreed.
She glared at her friend over her laptop. Marcy was up to something.
“It'll be six months tomorrow since you broke up with dickhead Hugh Blankshaw. And don't look at me with that ice-maiden expression of yours.”
“What guy?” Kensley asked through gritted teeth.
“What 'what guy?’” Marcy took a step back and asked innocently. “I meant that hypothetically, of course.” She shrugged and then fiddled with a folder on Kensley’s desk.
“You don’t mean anything hypothetically, Mace.” Kensley smacked Marcy’s hand away before she tore the report to bits with her nails.
“Okay, fine. He's absolutely perfect for you. I’ve been taking you to clubs for some fuckboy fun, but you need a real man, a mature gentleman, and this man is just wonderful, and he is already crazy about you. I showed him your pic and...”
“You didn’t!” Getting a guy’s number randomly with no parameters set as to the next stage of contact was one thing; arranging a blind date with a scheduled time and place meant Kensley had no choice but to show up because that was how she was rigged. And Marcy knew that too well.
“I'm not asking you to marry him. I don’t want you to be alone tomorrow night with only your damn knitting needles to keep you company, and there’s just so much I can do for you because I don’t have the required goods, okay?”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Mr. Rogers keep me company,” Kensley said, then smiled deviously at her friend. Mr. Rogers had been a gift from Marcy. He came in bright purple with six settings, had an obscenely long battery life, and had the power to transport her into another dimension with nothing more than the little bunny ears that teased her clit.
“You need the real thing, Kens.” Marcy squealed. “Besides, Mr. Roger is not even a dildo, you only get clit action. Please, please, please, let me fix you.” She pressed her palms together and pleaded while she tossed her head from side to side, shaking her red curls at Kensley.
Kensley was not sold. “You seriously set me up on a blind date? That was the one thing—”
“Blind for you, but not for me.” I can see him clearly, he is gorgeous, smart, and rich, and he has his life together.
He's a doctor.
He saves little children and climbs mountains in his spare time.
And his hands—Kensley—he has the most delicious hands. Lickable fingers, and... look, you really should be worrying about your poor little malnourished vagina, which has, I swear, given up on you already.”
“My va—” Kensley lowered her voice, rose from her chair, and strode to the copier in the corner of her office. “My vagina has not given up on me.”
Well, maybe it had, which was fine as well.
Marcy spun her around, wrapped her hands around Kensley's arms, and nodded gravely. “It has. Your vagina was closed down before it even went into business. It has died a slow, lonely, virginal death. You basically used your clit like a key and locked your lips like a door.” Marcy released her, then turned an imaginary key in the air and threw said key over her shoulder.
Kensley couldn't help it. Giggles bellowed from inside her and escaped her mouth. Marcy could hardly keep her face straight any longer, and they ended up laughing together.
She loved Marcy with all her heart. Kensley wouldn’t have survived half the bizarre things she had gone through without her. They had known each other since elementary school. When an opening for an events coordinator surfaced at High Cloud a year ago, she recommended Marcy to Ellis, and he hired her on the spot.
But it wasn't long before her friend's laughter turned into a choke, and her eyes widened to twice their size.
“What?” Kensley asked, then turned to see what had caught Marcy’s attention. Her gaze landed smack on a broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway of her office. She quickly consumed his ebony black hair, chiseled lips, and thick, long-lashed green eyes.
The insanely structured angle of his jaw had her heart pounding in her chest, as did his immaculate suit and gleaming black shoes. When she returned her gaze to his face, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, and it was now her turn to be scrutinized from head to toe.
Except… he did it slowly, deliberately, and yet with an air of casual superiority. She had never in all her life been as thoroughly perused as she was now.
Thudding heartbeats echoed in her ears. Her body temperature seemed to rise as he scanned her face, dipped to her mouth, then throat, and dared to go lower, gliding over her breasts, each in turn, before landing on her favorite pair of practical black stilettos. The man made her want to do something feminine, like pouting her lips or flicking her hair over her shoulder.
Instead, as always, she had whipped her tresses into a mean, tenacious knot, not a strand out of place. And she was too busy gaping to do anything else with her lips.
