Page 58 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

This is out of my league. We’re strangers. I send his girlfriend a questioning glance.

She pulls a face. “Um, no. That thing is drenched. Eww.”

“Come on,” he insists, groaning. “I’m stuck.”

Killing a smile, I step forward and pull at his wet shirt until he’s able to peel it off over his head. When his arms finally slip out of the sleeves, he straightens and blows a puff of relief, displaying his naked chest. What a fit man, with neat muscles in all the right places and an amazing washboard for a stomach. He must be working out regularly, I refuse to believe otherwise, but he’s not pumped up like weightlifters because his muscles look lean and natural. His tanned skin glows from sweat and fills the intimate space between us with wet heat and the ensnaring scent of musky maleness. Black hairs over the waistband of his stretch pants glue to his stomach.

To say he’s sexy is an absolute understatement. I am hereby sexually assaulted, and my body reacts accordingly, my cock coming to life and my breath hitching. I hope he doesn’t notice, but on some crazy level I don’t really care—or maybe I even hope he does notice. Then what?

I send a new glance to the bed. Mira-Me has fallen asleep, head lolling to a side, mouth open. The female harlequin shows she has a good side, too, brushing hair away from Mira-Me’s eyes with a motherly smile.

Thank fuck, having to take care of my protégée means I’ve got a reason to step away from Mr. Sex on Legs. Besides, I don’t want to create a problem between him and his girlfriend. The last thing I need is for this couple to accuse me of harassment in addition to the previous bullying situation.

He follows my look and asks, “What are we going to do with her?”

“I’ll wake her up and we’ll go to our hotel. It’s not far from here.”

His girlfriend counters, “No, she’s just a child. Leave her be. She can sleep in my bed.”

Her bed? Do they have separate bedrooms?

Before I can think this through, she slips her hands underneath Mira-Me and lifts her into the air like she weighs nothing. She passes me with the girl in her arms, presses the door handle, and goes out onto the dark landing.

“Need any help?” Robin calls.

“Nope. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, guys,” she throws over her shoulder with a wink and leaves.

I’m majorly impressed by what that slim, young woman just did. When the door closes, I burst out, “She’s incredibly strong!”

Robin nods. “We exercise every day. She can carry my weight.”

I widen my eyes. “She what?”

“We do acrobatics. Come to our show and you’ll see. She lifts me and I lift her.”

“That’s insane.”

He gives a loud sigh. “Well, I really need a shower.” He returns to the bathroom, sits on the toilet seat, and proceeds to peel off his stretch pants, which stick to his skin. Looks like he uses all his strength, arm muscles bulging, to pull the pants down his thighs—and these thighs are equally muscular. Long and firm, not too hairy.

That’s it, I’ve seen enough. The man’s extreme sexiness confuses the hell out of me.

I retreat and have a breather on a miniature balcony. The roofs of the block buildings are connected to each other, forming a square, inner court, with moss covering the ancient, seamless terracotta tiles. It’s dark, the city lights creating ghostly shadows. Sleeping pigeons aligned on a rooftop are silhouetted against a tableau of a thousand blinking stars in the night. A chilly, humid draught creeps up from below. The balcony’s cast-iron fence looks solid enough, but I dare not lean over it to look down to the ground.

Now would be a good time to have a cig, but I’ve quit and need to keep my promise. The booze, however … just from thinking about it, the thirst invades me, and I know my efforts to ignore it will be fruitless.

Every hotel has a minibar, no? The fucking craving grows, unquenchable, bad, and ugly like a beast. I hurry back inside. Through the now-closed bathroom door drifts the sound of running water splashing on tiles. I don’t know if it’s my cop nose or what, but I instantly locate a small door in the closet section that indeed holds a fridge with a nice selection of mini-bottles. I pick a gin, down it, and wait for the effect to hit me. It always takes some time, so the clue is to wait patiently.

Eh, but that’s another thing about me, I have no patience. I uncork a mini-whiskey and swallow it in one go. Still no effect. The producers ought to work on that problem, increase the alcohol percentage or something.

“You should wait a bit,” Robin’s voice says from behind me.

Startled, I swivel on my feet. Was so busy drowning my thirst, I didn’t hear him open the door.

He stands in the doorframe, his body the stunning beauty of a Greek god, with only a towel tied around his waist. “I know,” he says with a sad voice. “I’ve been there.”

Chapter Four

The effect of the alcohol hits me seconds later, dulling my senses and slowing my movements. I close the minibar and sit against the closet door, sucking in a deep breath and savoring the delicious heat that rushes through me. It’s as smooth and soft as the carpet under my ass.

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