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I won’t be seeing him again after tonight, so drooling over his handsome face isn’t a good idea. He has the right look, the right attitude to pull this off. He has to. It’s what the agency advertises, what I’m paying for.
Bad. Arrogant. Rough. Violent. Just enough to remind me.
Just enough to see if I can get over it. I haven’t been able to get close to a man since that fateful night, not even to hold hands or randomly touch, let alone have sex.
But I figure if I’m going to do it, then I’m all in. Rip the Band-Aid off. Get it over with.
Vaguely I think this can’t be right. I wasn’t attracted to the man who held me, not in the least, and Riot is eye candy, but hey.
Can’t complain about that, now, can I?
Shrugging off my coat, I drop it with my purse on a chair and smooth down my dress, trying to calm my nerves.
This is my confidence outfit. Short black dress, black high-heeled pumps, silver necklace and large silver hoops in my ears. This is my I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it outfit. My I-hook-my-little-finger-and-men-drop-at-my-feet costume. My Sex Goddess disguise.
Who I want to be. Who I am. The new me.
Silence spreads. He’s making no sound, so I turn to see.
His jacket is carelessly thrown on the bed. Leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, he’s staring at me, that same lopsided grin from earlier on his lips. He looks somehow predatory, and my heart stammers.
Yes, this is what I need. That fear. I need to get back into the memories of that night, and this time react. Fight back. Make it right.
Make him stop.
“Do you want me to strip first?” he asks, breaking through my thoughts, his voice low and raspy. “You want me completely naked from the start, or shall I leave my briefs on?”
The questions—the images my brain helpfully provides of him naked—jolt me like lightning.
“Um. Not…” Not sure about anything.
“Do you have a scenario in mind? How you want this to play out?” He’s still leaning against the wall, cool and relaxed, while my pulse thumps in my throat.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, do you want me to tie you up, pretend I kidnapped you or something? Some women like that. That’s why they come to our agency. That bad boy vibe.”
“Kidnapped.” It comes out breathy with remembered fear.
“If that’s what you want.” He shrugs and pushes off the wall, his smile gone. “Anything you like.”
“No, wait.” Deep breaths. All in, right? Crap, my hands are shaking. “No...no kidnapping scenario. Just tie me. Tie me up.”
Because that’s what happened that night, with the added bonus that I won’t be able to run away if the memories ge
t too much.
“Sure thing.” He winks at me and starts unbuttoning his blue shirt. “I’ll tie you up.”
There’s something else I should be telling him right about now, but when he shrugs off his shirt, my brain shuts down.
Oh boy.
His chest is beautifully sculpted into hard planes and dark hollows. Muscular and lean, from his ripped stomach to his defined pecs and higher, to his big shoulders and biceps that bulge when he lifts his shirt and lets it drop on top of his jacket.
Colors swirl on his arm and pec. A tattoo unlike any I’ve ever seen—yellow and red and golden, in the shape of flames.
I watch as he reaches for his zipper, his abs contracting. Gah. Talk about a six-pack. Then he pops the button, pulls down the zipper, and my mouth goes dry.
