Page 6 of Ten

“Goodness,” I said, taken aback by her apology. “How many hours are you spending reading all those HR newsletters that drop into your inbox?”

“Nisha!”

“Okay! All right.” I held up a hand to stay her next words. “I am not mad at you. You didn’t offend me. We’re fine.”

Savannah nodded, but I could see that she remained uncertain. “I’ll see if Tiara can stay late and take his appointment.”

God help me, but I felt the most intense and awful flare of jealousy at the very idea of Tiara Woodruff putting her hands on Ten. She was the sweetest woman. Her life revolved around God and family and her role as a cheerleader for the Texans. She only worked part-time at Allure during football season and had a waitlist five miles long for appointments. She wouldn’t purposely try to flirt with Ten, but there was just something about her that made men into slobbering idiots in her presence.

“No!” The word came out harsh, and Savannah seemed visibly surprised. More gently, I said, “No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

Savannah’s surprised expression turned sly. “Okay.”

“What?” I asked, irritated that she had seen right through me. “I’m sure she has choreography training this evening. She can't be late.”

“Sure.” Savannah nodded smugly. “That’s definitely why you’re worried. Her schedule, right? Definitely not her fingers running through Ten’s hair at the shampoo station.”

“You’re impossible.” I stomped away in a huff, ignoring Savannah’s laugh and the burning streak of jealousy that scorched my heart at the very thought of Tiara putting those neatly manicured nails anywhere near Ten’s scalp.

Get a grip!

Of all the men in Houston, why did it have to be Ten who affected me like this? Why did it have to be a man who was the absolute worst choice? A man who went against every single rule I had made for myself after Kiki?

No criminals. No gang members. No made men. No felons or prisoners.

Ten checked every one of those, probably twice or more on some of them.

He likely didn’t meet any of my other criteria either.

Stable white-collar job? Homeowner? Retirement savings? A good relationship with family? Education beyond high school?

He was all wrong for me. Completely. Totally. Wrong.

But I wanted him.

I wanted him in a way that I had never experienced.

I wanted him to kiss me until I was breathless, to manhandle me into bed and do dirty, filthy things that made me scream with joy.

I wanted to know what it felt like to have his mouth on me, to have those strong, scarred hands gripping my thighs as he pushed them wide open and lashed me with his tongue.

I wanted to know what it was like to be fucked by a man who looked at me like I was the sexiest woman he had ever seen. I wanted to be worshipped and treated like a queen.

I wanted Ten, even if just for one wicked and wanton night.

An idea struck me as I walked toward the lobby of the salon to greet my next client. What if I propositioned Ten to give me exactly that? What if I indulged myself this once? Satisfied my craving for Ten and then moved on to someone more suitable?

Would he agree? He seemed down for that type of arrangement. No strings. A fling. He got what he wanted. I got what I wanted. No attachments. No trouble.

It could be that simple.

Couldn’t it?

“Nisha.” Mandee, one of our interns, intercepted me before I made it to the lobby. Her green eyes were wide with concern, and she glanced nervously behind her.

“What’s wrong?” Her body language had me on alert. Was it a problem client? Had someone crossed a boundary with her?

Mandee stepped behind the fancy backdrop we provided for guests to take photos for social media and gestured for me to join her. Lowering her voice, she said, “There’s a woman at the reception desk who says she’s your husband’s lawyer.”

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