Page 151 of Fiery Romance

All I want is to go home, soak in a tub and forget the sensation of Clay Bolton’s rough caresses. Or try to.

I doubt I’ll be successful.

Despite taking a long, steamy-hot bath this morning, my skin still smells like him.

He’s baked in. A tattoo I can’t scrub away.

A haunting.

Except my ghost is alive.

“Island?” Amy approaches me, her smile wide and her steps quick and enthusiastic. She was out all morning, checking in with my other franchises, but I knew this conversation would come.

“Amy.” I set away the sulfate-free shampoo, mango-hibiscus conditioner and flexi-rods.

Amy beams a smile and tiptoes over to me, mischievous as a cat on a mouse’s tail.

“Sooo,” she drags out the word, her pale cheeks flushing with excitement, “how was your weekend?”

“Fine.” I glance around at my other employees. There is no way I want to discuss this out here where everyone can hear.

“Was he as cute in person as he was online?” Amy lowers her voice to ease my discomfort.

“Uh, yeah.” I drum up another fake smile.

Amy had been helping me with the dating app, suggesting questions I could ask to weed out the people who were only interested in one-night stands and stalking Byron’s social media to ensure he really was who he said he was.

“I knew it.” She pumps a fist. “So what happened? Are you seeing him again?”

“I don’t think we connected on that level,” I mutter, moving from behind the counter to the stack of towels.

“What?” Amy’s voice sinks in despair.

“We have different values.”

“What do you mean? You guys got along so well through text.” Her brow furrows. “He wasn’t intimidated at all by you being a boss-queen.” She flips her wrist and wiggles her eyebrows.

I shudder. “Amy, never do that again.”

“Right.” She straightens and follows me to the washing station where I check inventory. “I don’t get it. He seemed polite. Kind. And he didn’t once say anything inappropriate.”

“No, you’re right. But it just didn’t click.” I bring the conditioner to eye level.

I’ve been considering changing from big labels to a black-owned brand. One of the ladies from the women’s shelter started her own business. I’d like to get her to the next level.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Amy asks.

I turn to her. “What do you mean?”

“What does chemistry look like to you? What will make you say that you’ve clicked?”

I want you.Clay’s words on the night he interrupted my date with Byron ricochet in my mind.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, grabbing a towel and twisting it. “He has to be a gentleman.”

Didn’t you set this date up to get my attention?

My face heats as if Clay is behind me now, tongue flicking against my neck.

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