was the name. I changed it from The Cabaret , which was musty and old-fashioned, to Strut , which was edgy and unapologetic. The name change caused some buzz and a few weeks later, I had investors show up with an offer, not the current offer, but an offer. I huff a sigh that’s part relief and part overwhelmed. I just need to close. That’s all.
Last night after the movie, I got myself an apple from the kitchen and when I headed upstairs to go to bed, he was sprawled on the couch, reading the paper. He wore a pair of reading glasses. The sight of him all rumpled and sexy and reading the New York Times made me stumble over my own feet. I almost did a faceplant right there in the den. He snorted. Asked me if I was light-headed again and did I want to be carried to bed.
I’ve known him for a matter of days and I’ve had three x-rated dreams about him.
I don’t know why. He’s not my type. I don’t like arrogant men, the type that think everyone around them should do their bidding just because they were born into a wealthy family. My father was that way, or that’s how I imagine. When he found out my mother was pregnant, he paid her to go away. He abandoned her, four months pregnant, and went back to his wife.
My phone rings as I park my car at the salon. The image that flashes steals my breath. It’s a shot of a man’s chest, glistening with sweat or maybe from a shower but it sends a wicked jolt of lust down my spine. Luke, that dick, got a hold of my phone and took a picture of himself. The name “dick” is even added as if I would mistake him for someone else.
“You are a dick,” I say, skipping preliminaries.
“You took long enough to answer. Were you ogling my chest? You seem to have a little trouble keeping eye-contact when I’m shirtless.”
I shake my head trying to summon some outrage. He’s right though. His chest looks like it’s been sculpted from marble, and his voice is sleep-roughened, sexy as hell. I imagine him lying in his bed, the bed he put me in when I fainted. I imagine him half-covered with a sheet and I’m going to have that image in my head all day.
I can’t help but smile. “What can I do for you?” I make my voice soft. “Are you missing me?”
A deep rumble of laughter makes me close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest.
“I am. In fact, I was going to see if you wanted pancakes for breakfast but you were already gone. Your room was empty.”
Pancakes…my stomach rumbles and a small moan escapes my lips.
“I had breakfast already.”
“What? Like half a stalk of celery?”
I wish. I’d hurried out of the house this morning and grabbed a coffee at a gas station. So it wasn’t even a good coffee, and it was black, and I followed it with some mints. Even celery would be an improvement over stale coffee and Altoids. My empty stomach complains again.
He goes on. “I want to talk to you about the nightie I found on your bed. Do you wear stuff like that every night?”
“You should stay out of my room but, yes. I do. I love the feel of lace.”
He groans. The sound goes straight to my breasts and they tighten with arousal.
“That’s sexy as fuck, Olivia. You’re all conservative and cool on the outside and underneath you’re wearing that stuff?”
No one would ever accuse me of being a tease, but the idea that I’m tormenting this man pleases me.
“I took that nightie from your room. You’ll have to come to my room and ask for it back.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you, Luke. I have to get my hair done so I look decent for the closing.”
“Mm…I see that you are at a salon right now.”
A shiver of heated awareness rushes through me. Luke’s watching out for me. Usually it’s me in the driver’s seat making things happen. I run interference for my dancers, protect them from assholes, help my bouncers get bail for their kid brothers. Always something. But now, Luke is watching out for me, and I like it.
Luke. Something
Last night after the movie, I got myself an apple from the kitchen and when I headed upstairs to go to bed, he was sprawled on the couch, reading the paper. He wore a pair of reading glasses. The sight of him all rumpled and sexy and reading the New York Times made me stumble over my own feet. I almost did a faceplant right there in the den. He snorted. Asked me if I was light-headed again and did I want to be carried to bed.
I’ve known him for a matter of days and I’ve had three x-rated dreams about him.
I don’t know why. He’s not my type. I don’t like arrogant men, the type that think everyone around them should do their bidding just because they were born into a wealthy family. My father was that way, or that’s how I imagine. When he found out my mother was pregnant, he paid her to go away. He abandoned her, four months pregnant, and went back to his wife.
My phone rings as I park my car at the salon. The image that flashes steals my breath. It’s a shot of a man’s chest, glistening with sweat or maybe from a shower but it sends a wicked jolt of lust down my spine. Luke, that dick, got a hold of my phone and took a picture of himself. The name “dick” is even added as if I would mistake him for someone else.
“You are a dick,” I say, skipping preliminaries.
“You took long enough to answer. Were you ogling my chest? You seem to have a little trouble keeping eye-contact when I’m shirtless.”
I shake my head trying to summon some outrage. He’s right though. His chest looks like it’s been sculpted from marble, and his voice is sleep-roughened, sexy as hell. I imagine him lying in his bed, the bed he put me in when I fainted. I imagine him half-covered with a sheet and I’m going to have that image in my head all day.
I can’t help but smile. “What can I do for you?” I make my voice soft. “Are you missing me?”
A deep rumble of laughter makes me close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest.
“I am. In fact, I was going to see if you wanted pancakes for breakfast but you were already gone. Your room was empty.”
Pancakes…my stomach rumbles and a small moan escapes my lips.
“I had breakfast already.”
“What? Like half a stalk of celery?”
I wish. I’d hurried out of the house this morning and grabbed a coffee at a gas station. So it wasn’t even a good coffee, and it was black, and I followed it with some mints. Even celery would be an improvement over stale coffee and Altoids. My empty stomach complains again.
He goes on. “I want to talk to you about the nightie I found on your bed. Do you wear stuff like that every night?”
“You should stay out of my room but, yes. I do. I love the feel of lace.”
He groans. The sound goes straight to my breasts and they tighten with arousal.
“That’s sexy as fuck, Olivia. You’re all conservative and cool on the outside and underneath you’re wearing that stuff?”
No one would ever accuse me of being a tease, but the idea that I’m tormenting this man pleases me.
“I took that nightie from your room. You’ll have to come to my room and ask for it back.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you, Luke. I have to get my hair done so I look decent for the closing.”
“Mm…I see that you are at a salon right now.”
A shiver of heated awareness rushes through me. Luke’s watching out for me. Usually it’s me in the driver’s seat making things happen. I run interference for my dancers, protect them from assholes, help my bouncers get bail for their kid brothers. Always something. But now, Luke is watching out for me, and I like it.
Luke. Something
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