Page 33 of The Fling (Close Quarters 2)

“That’s a real conundrum.” I lean against the wall and fold my arms, not bothering to hide my smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Drew cocks her head. “This could be a good distraction considering I’m pissed at my sister and her fiancé. But I’malsopissed at you.”

“Ah, but you’re pissed at Flynn Lewis, not Mr. Suit.”

“True.” She nods. “I like that separation.”

I suspect she likes separation with a lot of things, because today I saw something real in her. Something vulnerable and hurt. Something I would bet my last dollar that she never wants anyone to see.

I’m officially, deeply and utterly intrigued by Drew Richardson.

But this is bad. She’s a wild girl, a loose cannon. And there’s no way in hell anonymity will protect us now—her twin sister is becoming part of my family, which means whatever risk-free bliss we’ve dwelled in previously is gone.

“Want to get out of here, Mr. Suit?” she asks coyly. “I can show you my Gene Simmons tongue action.”

“Well, when you put it like that...how could I possibly refuse?”

She walks past me, trailing her hand along the front of my pants, my cock crying out for release. How does she do this to me? Drew takes my restraint and crushes it without effort. I know this isn’t a good idea, but I’m like a puppet on strings, driven by my insatiable lust for her.

“You don’t want to say goodbye to your sister?” I ask as she heads to the exit.

“I have a feeling she doesn’t want to see me right now.” The sadness is quickly masked as she crooks her finger, beckoning me outside.

There’s no point pretending I’m not going to follow her out there and take her back to my place so we can fuck like bunnies. It’s a bad move and for once in my life, I’m happy to knowingly make a mistake.

By midnight we’re lying in my bed, satiated. Drew is curled against my side, her cheek resting against my chest and her white-blond hair tumbling all around her. We’ve showered and she attempted to wash all her face paint off, but there are flecks of black and white in her eyebrows and along the edge of her hairline.

I can’t help but smile. I do that a lot around her—even though Ishouldn’tbe smiling. I abandoned my best man duties merely seconds after arriving at the party and my phone has been pinging with texts from my cousin all night. I’mnotthat guy who shirks responsibility. I’m not that guy who picks pleasure over duty.

But around Drew... I’m different.

Drew shut her phone off after the fourth call from her sister. I did the same. Now it’s blissfully quiet. We’re in our own little bubble here, where the outside world doesn’t matter and mistakes don’t matter and responsibilities don’t matter. There’s nothing but her smooth skin and hot kisses and the rake of her nails down my chest.

She looks up at me, eyes smudgy and hooded. “Did you have any idea who I was?”

I shake my head. “None at all. In fact, when I first saw your sister tonight I had a heart attack because I thought I’d been screwing my cousin’s wife-to-be.”

She laughs and presses her face against me. “Oh, man, I wish I’d paid more attention. Part of me had forgotten that you couldn’t see my face.”

“You might look the same, but I knew she wasn’t you the second I shook her hand.” I stroke her hair away from her face.

“No crazy vibes?”

“No sizzle.”

Drew is naked, the bedsheet draped only over her feet. She’s perfectly comfortable in her own skin, more than any other person I’ve ever met. I could worship her body for hours. In fact, when she sank her nails into the costume as we walked through my front door and tore the damn thing right open, I could have died a very happy man.

“No sizzle, even though we look exactly the same.” She ponders this thought for a moment.

“It’s not about looks, as much as Ithoroughlyenjoy that part of you.” I trace the curve of her shoulder.

“Then what? You like my sparkling personality?” she teases, rolling her eyes. This is Drew’s mask. Her self-deprecating “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me” front that I bet is entirely bullshit. “My witty repartee.”

“I like the fact that you don’t try to fit into someone else’s box.”

“That was bloody obvious tonight, wasn’t it?” She lies still while I touch her, taking my time to explore the shape of her. Mostly I’m watching her face—for those small changes of expression, the subtle shift in her eyes. She tries to keep everything she feels far below the surface.

We might seem different—me in my three-piece suits and her in leather and studs—but armour is armour.

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