Page 82 of Wingwoman
He was only a couple feet away from me, the only thing keeping him from getting me was a single piece of pool furniture.
Eyes bright and mischievous, he said, “You might want to put those drinks down, Ms. Marcoux-Evans.”
Tipping my head back, I finished what was left from the half-finished coconut, then set it down on the floor at my feet. But I held the other full cup tight in my hands and shook my head. “I have a feeling this cup is the only thing stopping you from…”
My words trailed off. He stalked me like a panther, slowly, not taking his eyes off of me. As he circled the lounge chair, I did the same, going in the opposite direction while remaining equidistant to him.
“Stopping me from what?”
Despite having chugged half the piña colada moments ago, my throat went totally dry. “From… from getting revenge.”
His smile curved higher. “If you think that little coconut is going to stop me, you’ve got another thing coming. Besides… I think you’re forgetting something.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
In an unexpected leap, he jumped over the chair at me. Thick, muscled arms caught me around the waist. His bare hands were like branding irons, hot against my sensitive skin and I gasped as he yanked me flush against him.
We were both nearly half naked. Bare torso to bare torso.
Thigh to thigh.
Only two flimsy pieces of cloth separating the arousal I could feel pressing into my hip bone.
Cupping my jaw, he tilted my gaze up to his. The way the blazing sunlight hit him made him look like an angel. Some fever dream brought to life from too many hours in the desert. The brim of the cowboy hat still on his head shaded his eyes as they gleamed down at me.
I choked on the air that stalled from my lungs, nearly forgetting how to breathe with him so closely pressed against me.
Bending, his lips brushed my ear, eliciting a violent shiver to spasm down my spine.
“I like it dirty,” he whispered.
Then he lifted me up and tossed me into the pool—coconut and all.
Twenty-Three
HOPE
I staredat my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door and pinched the beautiful lace strap of my brand new La Perla bra.
That’s right, he even bought me new underwear. Fancy underwear.
I usually bought cheap bras and panties from Target. I always preferred to spend my money on the clothing people could see, not the stuff no one saw.
Opening the closet, I sighed and ran my hand along the beautiful designer clothes, all hung to perfection. No second-hand purchases in this closet.
On one hand, I knew the moment our six weeks were over, all these clothes were staying here while I moved back to New York. There was no way I was keeping all of them, despite the fact I desperately wanted to.
It wasn’t right. He knew that. And I knew that.
Though for a month and a half, I get to play dress up in what is essentially a movie star’s closet. And it was amazing.
The question was, what should I wear tonight for this first date? A secret date that’s not really a date or a secret at all because we had every plan of leaking images to the press ourselves.
There was a knock at my bedroom door before I could choose an outfit. “One second!” I called out, grabbing the robe hanging closest to the closet door.
After sliding my arms through, I tied the sash at my waist and opened the bedroom door.
No one was there.
