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I liked things casual and fun.
And up until now, there’d never really been the threat of someone having any sort of power over me to control my feelings and actions.
But he was right.
I had dragged my ass all the way out to Golden Glades when I had casual fuck-buddies on my phone right in town who could have provided a quick, no-strings fuck.
I’d gone to him because I couldn’t freaking think straight with how much I wanted him.
That was dangerous.
It was threatening my very equilibrium.
“Need I remind you that you came and hunted me down at work today,” I said. When you didn’t have a good argument, you could always just deflect. People tended to scramble when they were the ones with accusations thrown at them, forgetting all about the ones they’d tossed at you.
“The difference here being, baby, that I don’t have a problem admitting I’m intrigued.”
“By what? My ‘perfect pussy’?” I asked, air quoting his words from earlier.
He didn’t rise to the bait.
A slow, wicked little smirk toyed at his lips, though, and I swear my knees felt a little unstable seeing it.
“That, yeah. Pretty sure I’m never going to get enough of that,” he admitted. “But I didn’t mean your pussy. I meant you.”
Ugh.
There was more of that gooey feeling inside.
“I’m not interested in that,” I told him, but my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.
“Why not? Too chickenshit to admit you might be into me?”
“I don’t even know you,” I reminded him. Because that was true. I didn’t. He was a guy whose dick I liked to ride. That was it. I’d only just recently learned his name for God’s sake.
“But you want to,” he said, too damn astute for his own good. Amazingly good-looking guys were supposed to be dumb. It was, like, a rule of the universe, damnit. He was defying the laws of nature. “And that scares the shit out of you, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not scared of anything,” I said. Because, for the most part, that was true. I lived on the edge. Very little freaked me out enough to make me think twice about doing it.
Except, of course, those pesky things we liked to call ‘emotions.’ Those I avoided like the plague.
“No?” he asked, and I didn’t trust the look in his eye then. “Then meet me at Turner Loop tomorrow at seven.”
“Seven what?” I asked, curious despite my better judgment.
“In the morning.”
Turner Loop was an area in the Everglades.
“For what?” I asked.
“Show up and find out,” he said, then leaned in closer to add, “Or be a chickenshit. Your choice, baby,” he said, then turned and walked out.
Of the kitchen.
Then the office as a whole.
When I finally walked out of the kitchen, Josie was standing there behind her desk, eyes bright, smile knowing.
