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As soon as she said the words, she brought her hand to her mouth, as if she could stuff them back in. Shit. Had she just committed another Master Anthony type offense?
“Sir,” she added belatedly, hoping that might save her.
To her relief, Beau just grinned at her. “Good thing you added the ‘Sir.’ I might have had to give you another whack on the ass.” He sobered, adding, “Seriously, though. Regarding the way we were bantering back at The Enclave, and Anthony’s reaction, I want you to know I’m fine with the way we kid around. I get that there are certain expectations while we’re at The Enclave, but I’m not of the school of thought that believes BDSM has to be deadly serious every second of the day. As long as we’re not in the middle of a specific training session, or I haven’t instructed you otherwise, I want you to feel free to be your irreverent, sarcastic self. No need to address me formally or to censor yourself.”
He moved closer, so close she could have kissed his lips if she stood on tiptoe. He reached out, spanning her throat just above the rope collar still around her neck. The primal touch and his proximity made her skin tingle and her mouth go dry.
“I’ll let you know when or if you overstep.” His voice had deepened to a masterful timbre. “Trust me.”
Then he let her go, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Taking a step back, he glanced around the space as if he, too, were just seeing it for the first time. “And in answer to your question, I rented this place fully furnished on a month-to-month lease. A colleague of mine is taking a year-long sabbatical starting in January and has asked me to house-sit while she’s away. I figured this was fine until then.”
Lia immediately picked up on the feminine pronoun. She ordered herself to get a grip. “Nice,” she said aloud. “The house-sitting gig, I mean.”
He nodded. He had brought his overnight bag inside with him. Patting it, he said, “I’ll just grab what I need. I won’t be a minute.”
He turned toward the hallway off the living room that presumably led to his bedroom. “You can wait for me in my tasteless living room,” he added with a grin.
Ha. Maybe he hadn’t made his bed, either.
While she was waiting, she fished her cell phone from her jeans pocket. She hadn’t looked at it since Friday, too caught up in everything happening at The Enclave.
Shit. There were three missed calls from her mother plus a text that read:
Where are you?!!! Why aren’t you picking up, young lady? Love, Mom.
Lia shook her head. No matter how many times she told Loretta she didn’t need to sign off on texts like that, her mother persisted. She thumbed back a quick reply.
Sorry! I was staying at a friend’s place in the mountains. Poor cell reception up there. Everything okay?
She waited a moment, but there was no response. If it had been any kind of emergency, Loretta would have been far more persistent in trying to reach her, so she wasn’t worried. She’d done her duty by replying.
As she was tucking her phone back in her pocket, Beau reemerged from the hallway, his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They got back on the road, heading for her place.
They had to park some distance from the building, all the good spots taken as usual. She led him to her door and unlocked the deadbolt first, then slid the key into the doorknob. Opening the door, she said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Up until recently, Lia had always had roommates. This was the first place she’d been able to make all her own. She’d had a lot of fun decorating exactly as she pleased, ignoring her mother’s horrified critiques, as well the ribbing of scene friends who couldn’t quite reconcile her badass biker chick persona with the admittedly bohemian college-girl aesthetic of her place.
Gauzy, jewel-toned curtains hung over the windows, letting in the light while obscuring the view of the parking lot. She’d covered the walls with hand-painted canvases she’d bought from starving street artists, as well as cool vintage vinyl album covers she’d rescued from her parents’ basement.
A low-slung white couch was draped with colorful cushions of silk and velvet, each one a unique relic of flea market treasure hunts. Bean bag chairs were set here and there around the room, perfect for flopping into after a long day. She’d partially hidden the cheap laminate flooring with small, well-worn but beautiful Persian rugs she’d inherited from her grandmother. Potted plants dangled from the ceiling and sprawled on various end tables, lending an air of untamed wilderness to the space.
She looked at Beau expectantly, curious what he’d make of her creative decorating style, such a stark contrast to his bland, cookie-cutter apartment.
His mouth hung slightly open as he took it all in. He turned to her, his lips lifting into a wry smile. “Humble isn’t the first word that comes to mind. This is quite a place you have here.”
“It’s cool, right?”
“Sure. Who needs a theme when you can just throw every random thing you find into one room? Who knew bean bags could be a form of abstract expressionism?”
She snorted. “Okay. I guess I deserved that after calling your place a Holiday Inn.”
“You did,” he agreed with a chuckle. “And yeah, I’m just yanking your chain. This is actually awesome. Really creative.”
She beamed. “Thanks. Come see what I did in the bedroom.”
