“I’m more of a whip cream and chocolate guy.” A vision of Rachel, shirtless and in my kitchen as I lick my favorite flavor from her skin flashes in my mind. Yeah, that’s more my speed.
She bites back a smile. “Sweet tooth.”
She has no idea. I shift in my seat in hopes she doesn’t catch sight of my growing arousal. “You?”
She laughs. “You saw me suck down my milkshake in record time last night.”
Yeah, I did. Her lips around that straw gave me naughty daydream material to last all month. “But whips and chains?” She’s going to slap me. She should, because I have no business asking about her sexual preferences. Only, I can’t help myself. It’s Pierce’s fault.
She glances out the window, and fiddles with one of her earrings. “I think some of the more sensual aspects of play can be stimulating if shared with the right partner.”
Oh? My interest perks. “You’ve played?”
“Uh, yeah.” Her cheeks redden. She glances at me before looking back out the window. “I dated a guy who was into the scene.” She clears her throat. “A Dom. At least, he liked to play one in the bedroom.”
The thought of her with another man quashes all lust-filled thoughts. I don’t want to hear about that. I don’t want to imagine her with anyone but me. A crazy instinct since she and I are hardly friends and she’s given zero interest as to anything more.
Still. I can’t help but notice how she crosses her legs. The slit in her dress falls open to her thigh. If she notices me staring, she doesn’t move to fix it. That’s got to count for something.
“Oh, I love this song.” She leans forward and turns up the console. I don’t know if she’s really into the music or doesn’t want to talk, but it’s not as if I can ask without sounding like some desperate weirdo.
Patience. I need to have some fucking patience.
Focusing on the drive, I let myself enjoy the music. Rachel sings along with some of the lyrics, and I try not to stare at her lips. Much too soon, I pull into an empty space in front of the studio.
“Let me help you.” I say, slipping out of my seat and ignoring her protests before they start. She can carry these bags herself. She’s been doing fine without me, but I’m not ready to say farewell. Thanks to Pierce’s call I missed out on conversation we could have shared. I grab for her bags and sling the straps over my shoulder, not minding a bit that it wrinkles my suit.
Rachel stares pointedly and lifts an eyebrow.
“What?” I grin, “And don’t tell me I don’t have to walk you in, because you know I’m going to anyway.”
“But—”
“Nope.” I hold up a hand and walk toward the building, praying to God she follows. “The only thing I want to hear out of those gorgeous lips is a thank you.”
Her hips swing purposefully with each step matching my stride. “Thank you.” The words leave her mouth just above a whisper. I try not to stare. Or trip. Jesus. I can only imagine how she’d never accept my help again if I dropped these bags. I’ve spent enough time with women to know there’s got to be thousands of dollars’ worth of product in these bags. The cost of beauty isn’t cheap.
“Well, this is me.” She stops a few steps before we reach the door, and accepts her bags as I hand them over.
Even though I’m a little bummed she doesn’t invite me inside, I appreciate the fact she takes her career seriously. “Same time tonight?”
“Oh, you don’t—” She stops when I hold up my hand, letting loose a wry laugh. “Right. Well, then. I think we’re shooting longer today. I probably won’t get done until closer to seven or eight.”
“I’ll be here at seven. Text or call if something changes.”
“Okay, then. Thank you.”
“See. The more you say it, the easier it becomes.”
“Don’t be an ass.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips.
“Have a good day, Rachel.”
“You too, Jude.”
I practically skip back to my SUV in triumph. I’m wearing her down. Winning her over. I don’t care if it takes me weeks. I’m good at more than dealing puppies and sex toys. Soon enough, she’ll want more from me than a ride to work. I’ll convince her I’m someone worthy of her attention. Windows down and music up, I settle in for the ride back to my condo in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I’m almost home when my phone rings, my mechanic’s name lighting up the screen on my dash. “Hey Jude, I’ve got bad and good news.”
“Mark.” I roll up the windows to better hear. “Don’t you always. What’s the damage?”
“You know as much as I, this car is worth more for scrap and parts. That’s about all a LeSabre is good for, especially when they’re as old as you are. She’s not a collectable. Not with that body style. The rust spots. She’s obnoxious as hell.”
“You talk about all your cars that way?”
His hearty chuckle comes through the line. “Not your precious babies, which is why I was a little confused when you sent this one my way.”
“Just give it to me straight, Mark. What’ll it take to get her up and running?”
“It’s the cam. They go when the oil isn’t changed regularly. I’ll have to take apart the whole motor. Five days, maybe four. But that’s just to start. The entire vehicle needs a tune-up. New filters. New hoses. I’d be surprised if the AC works, so if you want that repaired too, we’re talking four, five grand. Maybe more.”
Something tells me Rachel doesn’t have the means to cover it, but the thought of being able to provide this for her does something funny to my insides. I have the money. She doesn’t have to know I paid for it. Mark and I go way back. I’m sure he’d whip up a fake invoice if
