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“I gave you the address to a gay bar,” she admits. “At least there, you’d have no fear of rejection.”
Only she could deliver a compliment wrapped up neatly within an insult and uttered with a deadpan expression. I don’t know which insinuation I find more amusing. The blatant questioning of my sexuality? Or her own denial? “I think it’s been more than sufficiently established which sex I prefer,” I state. “Though, I would be more than willing to give you a demonstration…”
She nearly runs to the opposite corner of the room when I advance. Her chest heaves, her pulse surging—I can almost hear the damn sound. “Take one more step, and I’ll contact every tabloid I know with an exclusive on a sexual assault in the penthouse suite of Graeme Bellamy.”
I advance another step. “As long as you have them explicitly mention that you enjoyed every minute of said assault.”
“Did I?” She challenges me in every way she can. Her posture. Her defiant glare. The taunting set of her chin. “I think that could be subject to some interpretation, Mr. Bellamy.”
I stop paces from her, just close enough to make her stiffen. “As I mentioned, I would be more than happy to give you a demonstration.”
She sighs, and then all at once, Evelyn King deflates. Her shoulders slump. That defensive posture slouches. Her pursed lips part. “I’m exhausted,” she admits. “I’ve been out all day. All I want to do is leave, find a new hotel, and sleep.”
I blink. Can it be? Evelyn King actually pleading for something? I shake my head. No bloody way. “Another hotel,” I repeat, glancing down at her suitcase. Suddenly the damned thing takes on a new meaning. It’s too soon for her to have been evicted from her apartment due to an inability to cover the rent—unless she refused to cash the severance check. I hadn’t checked with Sarah to know a definitive answer. “Is something wrong with your apartment?”
She draws herself to her full height. “That’s none of your business.”
She’s hiding something. I can tell just from the look in her eye. “Well, don’t let me stop you,” I say.
“Good.” She nearly races past me for the door. I let her get halfway before I reach out and snag the handle of her suitcase, ripping it from her grip.
“I’ll even save you the trouble of finding a hotel in the city at the height of tourist season.” In case she doesn’t catch my meaning, I nod to the stairs. “You can sleep here.”
“Le salaud.” She drags a hand through her hair and tries to snatch her suitcase back. “This isn’t a game. Some of us can’t afford to turn everything into a power play.”
A power play, she says. I drag her suitcase to the stairs and mount them. A part of me doesn’t expect her to follow, but when I open the first door on the upper floor and toss her suitcase inside it, she’s there, watching me from the mouth of the staircase.
“I don’t remember joking, Ms. King. You can stay here. Just as long as you abide by the rules, I expect any guest to follow.”
“Oh really? And what might those be? Only wear my panties? Screw you on demand? Bow in the presence of your majesty?”
I counter her glare with a shrug. “Stay out of my way.”
“You can’t honestly be serious.”
I glance at the bedroom. It’s one of three in the suite, and the only time any of them has been used was when Gloria had been too drunk after lunch to make it to her own suite without an escort. “If you would prefer to rent a penthouse suite at a hotel, I wouldn’t mind giving you a recommendation. I’m sure a few days’ stay would only require half of your severance pay. And that’s if I give you the economic options.”
“Give me my stuff—”
“Unless you really don’t believe you can remain professional for one night, Ms. King.”
Her entire body tenses at the veiled insinuation. She blinks. Sputters. When she finally seems to regain control of her voice, her head rears back, allowing her piercing gaze to clash with my own. “I can’t be professional? Says the man who hasn’t stopped spewing innuendo from the moment I walked in.”
“Innuendo?” I raise an eyebrow. “Frankly, I have no idea what you mean.”
“Really?” She places a hand on her hip.
“I generally prefertight, concise conversation, Ms. King.”
“Like hell, I’m staying here.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best.” I turn my back on her, heading for my own room. “After all, I wouldn’t want you to spend the night uncomfortable, Ms. King—”
“On second thought. I’ll take you up on your offer.” The sound of a clasp being undone catches my attention. I turn to find her with her hands on the front of her jeans. When she’s sure I’m watching, she wrenches on the zipper and drags them down her hips, revealing another pair of black panties.
“What are you doing?” My voice is too hoarse. She smiles, the picture of innocence, and then fingers the hem of her sweater. She raises it up over the ridge of her stomach. Higher… I can make out her nipples through the lacy padding of her bra—and then it hits me. She’s wearingthatset of underwear. The pair from the picture.
“I’m getting ready for bed, Mr. Bellamy,” she says sweetly. “By changing into my pajamas.Professionally.”
