Page 11 of Handcuffed Hussy
I startled, nearly upsetting my computer from my lap, when the doorbell rang. I closed the computer lid, covering any criminal activity and wracked my brain for who it could be. I hadn't invited anyone over, but I knew it could be one of my Beach Squad girls. We didn't bother texting to let one of us know you were coming over. Prior notice is for acquaintances, and with all the topics we'd covered in detail over glasses of wine, we were way past acquaintances in the Squad.
I walked to the door and peered through the peep hole.
I jumped back, my heart racing from just one quick, fish hole view of Jack standing on my doorstep.
"I can hear you in there, Bailey. Open up," Jack demanded through the door.
Damn! Karma worked quick these days.
My hand fluttered to my chest like some kind of Victorian schoolmarm, irritating me on principal alone. I didn't let anyone scare me.
"Sorry, Jack. I can't let you in. Maybe call me tomorrow so we can set up a better time instead of just stopping by uninvited." I was proud of the strength in my voice, knowing just what to say to piss him off.
"Bailey, I swear to God, open this damn door right now." He wasn't even shouting, yet the command in his voice was admirable. Few men could cause me to shake doing nothing more than deepening their voice.
I looked down at my outfit, realizing I wasn't fit for company in more ways than one.
"I really can't, Jack..." I sing-songed.
"Bailey. Do not make me break this door down." His voice sounded like his head was leaning against the door, just inches from me.
An insane giggle almost escaped as I readied myself to obey his command. This aughtta be good.
I whipped the door open, my other hand on my hip, giving him a full head-to-toe view of my body, barely covered in lingerie.
Listen, I'm not conceited. However, I do have a healthy self-confidence. I knew I was beautiful in a traditional sense. Years of people asking me why I didn't model helped clue me in to that fact. I just wasn't interested in that line of work. I preferred to show off my body in more intimate settings. Like this one.
I so wished I had a camera, but as it was, I'll never forget the look on Jack's face as it transformed from angry to astonished to highly aroused to desperate, and then back to angry. Like a full circle trip.
Jack
I'd seen Bailey's face before she ducked down in her car on Hessa's street. I don't know who she thought she was fooling. I knew her car and her beautiful face. What I wanted to know was why she was hiding from me and what she was doing at Hessa's house.
I admit that I was highly sensitive to everything Bailey did, but something was off. I was a detective for God's sake. I knew when someone was hiding something. And Bailey was definitely hiding something.
So I drove to her place and waited down the street for her to come home. She wasn't at Hessa's long enough for it to have been a social call. She was there with a purpose and I would find out what that was.
When she wouldn't open the door, I was irate. The woman was infuriating. She was sassy beyond all reason. It's like she purposely said and did things to make me angry. And like an idiot, I took the bait every time. I couldn't seem to help it.
And then she finally opened the door.
Words can't possibly describe all that went through my head at the vision before me. Bailey was gorgeous on any given day, but standing silhouetted in her doorway with one hand propped up on the door and the other on her hip, dressed in clothes that were more see-through than actual clothes, was a sight I'll never forget.
My gaze dropped to her toes and traveled all the way back up her body, memorizing every curve to keep me warm for the rest of my years. Unfortunately, my gaze snagged on her breasts, where her nipples were rock hard and showing through her tank top. It was like everything I'd pictured for months was now revealed and it far surpassed anything my imagination could have come up with.
I tried to be a gentleman and not look my fill, but shit. I was a living, breathing male presented with female perfection. I had to look.
And then I got angry again. What the hell was she doing opening the door wearing that? I don't care who was on the other side, or what I might have said, a woman should not be opening her door wearing that.
I quickly took two steps in and slammed the door shut behind me, afraid half her neighborhood could see her in all her glory.
She smiled at me and shrugged. "You said I had to open the door."
I clenched my jaw, trying to calm myself before I spoke. I took another step toward her, now just inches from touching all that perfect skin on display.
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. I stepped forward, she stepped back again.
We continued this dance until we were in her living room. I finally spoke, hoping she understood the level of restraint that I was showing.
