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My PI promised me results by tomorrow. I should have answers by then.
“The blackmailer wants the cash by Monday,” he says. “You have until Sunday, midnight. Then the board will take over.”
Two days to save Sarah’s skin.
No pressure.
46
SARAH
This movie is ridiculous, and anyone saying they’re watching it for the plot is a liar.
What plot? It’s just porn, as laughable as a pizza delivery guy scenario. But it’s incredibly hot, which provides a wonderful background to my personal fun.
It’s been far too long since I’ve enjoyed my own touch. Or any touch. Whatever else I might accuse him of, Marius gave me that back over the last two weeks. It wasn’t his aim—he was doing whathewanted, in order to achieve his goal, but it doesn’t change the fact that he pleased me, and made me crave more.
So much more.
That’s a part of myself I’ve neglected, stifled, ignored, and it’s been revived after years. It wants to play. And I do.
At least until the distinctive sound of the door opening, followed by the click of heels on the floor.
Oh, shit.
I rush to remove my hands from my panties, close my legs and straighten out my dress, but I don’t have the time to turn off the movie before Violet strides in, bearing a huge grin.
“Ooooh, that movie! Nice,” she approves.
I blush furiously. I didn’t have time to turn the TV off, and naturally, the screen opens on a full-on blowjob scene, complete with porn soundtrack.
“You’re back!” I say with false cheer, jumping to my feet and shutting the movie off.
The screen goes dark before Rhys joins her on the threshold.
“Hope you had a nice date! I’m gonna go up. It’s getting late. Didn’t see the time.”
Violet grins knowingly, but they let me run away, with a wave and a, “Good night!”
* * *
I toss and turn all evening, not for the first time this week. At three in the morning, I give up and head downstairs to make myself a nice, warm drink and have a snack.
“Is that tea?” Rhys says, his Britishness never far when it comes to hot tea.
I jump a little, startled to find anyone here at this time.
From the wetness of his hair, chest, and the fact that he’s only wearing boxers, I’d guess he was in the pool.
“Huh, yeah. Chamomile,” I grumble. “It’s supposed to help me sleep.”
“I’ll have some if there’s enough to go around,” he asks politely, like I’m not squatting in his house and using his tea leaves.
Violet is, of course, right behind him, wearing drenched black underwear.
“Sure. Same, Vi?”
“Yes, please!” She’s still beaming, her skin flushed.
