And what a dress.
He finds himself looking at a pretty redhead in a green gabardine dress cut to show off plenty of cle**age. And that cle**age – which immediately arrests his eyes – is now covered with a generous helping of Bolognese sauce.
She says, “Now I’m a mess.”
“It goes well with your hair.”
She glares at him. “Are you always this smug?”
“I was only trying to compliment you . . . and to get you to see the bright side of the situation. That’s me, an eternal optimist.” Brian flashes his most charming smile, the one he knows will get women out of their panties faster than they can raise their skirts.
He points at her cle**age. He is on his predatory mode again – the one that comes naturally to him like the air he’s breathing.
“If you’d like to come up to my place, I can get you cleaned up. And nothing else will happen, scout’s honor.”
Of course, he was never a scout. But they don’t know that. He also knows that his large brown eyes are lighted up by the dim overhead lamps into a rich liquid golden, and they are at their most alluring. Besides, he is devastatingly handsome in his tux.
The redhead says doubtfully, “Well . . . I was here to visit a friend . . . and I’ve got to really be getting back . . . ”
“To a husband? Boyfriend? Laundry service?”
“No.”
Brian holds his hands up. “Well, when you get back to your significant whatevers smelling of lasagna, don’t say I didn’t offer to get you cleaned up.”
Nothing like the seeming withdrawal of an illicit promise to get their juices churning.
The redhead pauses. “Well, OK. You got detergent?”
“I have a silk bathrobe.”
He punches the button of the private penthouse elevator again. The smile is still on his face as they step in together.
In a corner of the ceiling, the roving security camera is trained on them.
10
Brian pushes open the front door of his penthouse; aware that only minutes ago, he had made up his mind to be more careful about letting strangers into his home. Still, what can an itsy-bitsy girl like her do to a big, strapping man like him?
“Come on in,” he says.
“Wow.” Her dark eyes sparkle.
This is the reaction he always gets when he brings someone back to his apartment for the first time. It’s designed to wow. The entrance opens up to a lounge bedecked with a plush Persian carpet that cost him a hundred thousand dollars. OK, it was a gift from his aunt. Tasteful Italian furniture is set in artful arrangement, and the centerpiece is a grand piano.
“You play?” she asks.
Has he heard her voice before? Something about her seems awfully familiar.
“Only with one finger.”
“And you have a whole grand piano just for that finger,” she teases.
Oh, she wants him all right.
“I’ll promise not to tell you where that finger has been if you promise not to tell anyone I can’t play.”
She laughs. “I guess I’d better ask you to promise to point me the way to the bathroom.”
“The swimming pool is out there just in case you need a larger body of water.”
She gives him a knowing look and disappears in the direction of the guest bathroom.
He shrugs his tuxedo jacket off and goes to the bar. An array of liquor bottles greets him. He wonders what she would like. Something hard? Or maybe a little wine? He picks up a shot glass and pours himself some bourbon.
She reappears – in his white silk bathrobe. Her cle**age is pronounced in between the lapels, and she has the sash loosely tied around her waist. He can see that she has an amazing body under the robe. Her red hair falls prettily around her shoulders. She carries her partially wet green dress.
“Bourbon?” he asks her.
“No, I think I will have myself some vodka.”
“I’m Brian Morton, by the way.”
“Delilah.”
Fetching name, he thinks.
He puts down his drink on the bar. “Well, Delilah, if you don’t mind, I think I will change into something more comfortable before I get bourbon all over my dress suit.”
“Do you have a tumble dryer?”
“It’s over that way in the laundry room, which is behind the kitchen.” He points her in the direction. “Make yourself at home.”
When he comes back to the lounge, in jeans and a grey sleeveless tee which shows off his shoulder muscles to maximal effect, she is seated on his black leather sofa, sipping vodka. She pushes an identical glass towards him.
“I don’t like to drink alone,” she says.
Her eyelashes bat suggestively at him. So she’s also a predator. He likes that. He wonders what she would be in bed with her hair all mussed up and sprawled gloriously upon the pillow.
A fleeting image of Sam graces the top of his mind, but he pushes it away. This was their deal, after all. They are just ‘hanging out’. No obligations, no commitments, no regrets. The way they both like it.
He sinks into the sofa seat next to the redhead and takes the drink she proffers. It’s more bourbon.
“Bottoms up,” he says, clinking glasses with her. “Here’s to laundry.”
“To laundry,” she agrees.
“May your stains always be washed away by the detergent gods,” he adds. He has to restrain himself very hard from making more quips with other types of stains.
She finishes her drink, straight up, and slams her glass down on the table. Her cheeks are lightly flushed.
He grins and does the same to his.
“Now, how do we go about this?” he says.
He leans over. His mouth closes in on hers. She tastes of vodka and clean lipstick. His hands roam down the silky expanse of her bathrobe. His bathrobe. He cups her br**sts beneath the silk. Her ni**les are pointed and hard.
His c**k grows hard – ready for action as it always is. He always did have a healthy libido, one he can summon at will. She kisses him back – sensual and raw and needy.
Is it just him or is the room spinning a little? Sam’s pretty face with its upturned nose comes back to his semi-glazed vision. Let’s see. What did he take tonight? Two glasses of bourbon. He didn’t order anything at the bar of the Galois, did he? He could always hold his liquor. It’s his trademark.
He blinks to clear the daze and kisses her with climbing fervor. His hands grow bolder. He gropes her waist, her bu**ocks, her thighs. He doesn’t come up for air as his tongue probes her mouth.
He feels her hands go around his head, gripping bunches of his hair, and then down his back.