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Fiery as Skylar is, tonight should end at her doorstep. Stepping foot in her home is a bad idea. How old is she? Old enough to drink at a bar. Old enough to stir libidinous thoughts. Old enough to lie beneath me.
I should decline her invitation. Should walk her to the door, then drive home. Home to my bed, where I can explore my lewd thoughts with a tight grip on my cock.
I should leave, but I don’t.
“I’d love to, thanks.”
Chapter Three
SKYLAR
Lawrence swallows the foyer with his presence. Not with his height or stance, but with his aura. He radiates confidence. Projects it like a weapon.
It’s pretty hot.
Most guys I have gone home with were handsy the moment we left the pub until I escaped their bed. Which was fine by me. Both of us got what we wanted and called it a night.
But Lawrence didn’t seem like most guys.
One—he is older than the men I usually hook up with. How old? Not sure. Guessing age isn’t my area of expertise. But if his maturity and sense of self are any indication, I would guess he has at least ten years on me. Two—he dresses sharper, classier. Makes jeans and a pressed, untucked button-down hot.
I hang my purse on a hook near the door, drop the evil heels on the floor, and hobble farther into the house. “Can I get you water? Dr Pepper?”
His eyes scan the space, take in the blended tastes of me, Kirsten, and our other roommate, Delilah. Thankfully, we have similar taste. Soft neutrals mixed with dark bolds. Basic furniture and simple accent pieces. Considering how busy we are with work and life, we didn’t see the point in excess.
“No, thank you. Why don’t you sit and I’ll get ice for your ankle.”
“It’s fine—”
Lawrence sweeps me into his arms and walks me to the couch. He lowers me as if I might break. “Sit here. I’ll be back.”
Okay, then. Lawrence is the bossy type. Should I be surprised? Probably not.
I peek over my shoulder, spot him rummaging through drawers until he locates the gallon zip bags. He opens the freezer, fills the bag with ice, then tugs the towel off the oven door and heads back to the living room.
“What is it you do for work?” I ask as he kneels in front of me, sits, then lifts my ankle to rest it on his knee.
He wraps the towel around the ice before draping the pack over my ankle. Within seconds, the chill alleviates some of the pain. I sag back on the couch and hug a throw pillow to my chest as Lawrence rubs the muscles above my ankle.
Damn, that feels good.
“Investments,” he says with a straighter spine and hint of a smile. “Been with Stone Bay Financial fifteen years.” I choke on the air I breathe. Toss the pillow aside, sit upright, and smack my chest. Lawrence gingerly sets my foot on the floor, rises to his knees, and rubs my back. “Lift your hands over your head. Do you want water?”
I lift my arms and shake my head. “I’m okay,” I choke out.
Jesus. This man started his career when I was in third grade.
One after another, I take deep breaths. Get my coughing under control. Work to settle the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.
He can’t be that old. Right?
“Sure you’re okay?” He rocks back on his haunches and studies my expression. No doubt my face is beet red.
I nod. “Yeah. Better now.” I close my eyes, swallow to dampen my throat, then ask, “How old are you?” My eyes meet his for one, two, three breaths before a hint of a smile dons his lips.
“Is that what made you nearly choke to death?”
I roll my eyes. “It was a dry spot.” I tap my throat.
