Page 5 of Seductive Scoundrel

Mia: Perhaps. Deal?

I type as I grab the spray bottle that I use for my only surviving plant. Sort of sad when I started with seven but keeping things alive isn’t exactly my specialty. I’m more of a seek-and-destroy kinda girl. A necessary personality trait for my job.

Dean: Deal.

Mia: Fine. One super sexy after-workout pic coming up.

I do a few quick crunches to try and tighten my abs, then spray my chest, legs, and face until they’re glistening. It takes twenty or so shots before I’m happy, but the image I load for Mr. Big Dick is understated sexy – even if I do say so myself. The planes of my stomach, boobs, and thighs in form-hugging, damp underwear look freaking amazing.

I stare at my phone, waiting.

And waiting.

And then I start to doubt the picture I sent and click on it again.

Nope. It’s hot, so who gives a shit what Mr. Big Dick thinks anyway? Not me.

I set my phone down, and peel off my wet undies, feeling like a bit of a fool. Note to self: don’t play games with strangers. Especially arrogant ones with big cocks.

With my mood in the toilet, I head for mine. Actually, for my shower, but they’re so close together I could probably use both at the same time.

I crank the hot water, hoping there is some. Usually, by this time, the best I can hope for is lukewarm. Sort of symbolic of my life right now.

Just as I pull back the curtain, my phone dings. Although my brain orders my body to get into the shower and ignore the second ding – I can’t.

Faster than if my place was on fire, I sprint the eight steps back into my living room/bedroom and grab the silver rectangle off my end table/desk. Not the best work setup, but then again, I’m usually sitting in a dingy back office of some corporation combing through their paperwork and databases.

Instead of a text from Mr. Big Dick, there’s a notification from Jane, my boss at TBA. She’s a complete control freak. Not only is she making my work life unbearable, but she’s also managed to carry it over into my personal life, too.

The woman doesn’t sleep and expects the same from her soldiers. She texts, e-mails, and even calls me at all hours of the day and night. If I don’t respond within a nanosecond, she’s down my throat.

I just love my life.

Jane: Check your e-mail. You have a new assignment. You need to accelerate the project you’re currently working on. Tight timeline. Confirm receipt of information. Will discuss tomorrow AM.

I glance at the time – 9:45 PM on a Sunday. No freaking way I’m pouring over anything except my bed tonight. She can kiss my slightly damp ass.

Jane: Confirm.

I’ve had craptastic bosses before, but GI Jane takes the cake. Everything from her curt texts to thin lips irks me.

Mia: Confirmed.

And go to hell – I add in my head.

Perfect, now I have to get up even earlier to read over what she sent before making my way to Steel Incorporated on the other side of the damn city. At least their audit has gone smoothly, so I’ll finish ahead of schedule. Not that I intend to share that information with the boss lady – yet.

I throw my phone on the futon and shoot it a dirty look before heading back to the bathroom. That stupid device has brought nothing but trouble today – I’m so done with it.

And then it dings again and my body halts. Jane probably sent a meeting invite. As much as I don’t want to look, I also don’t want to be screwed if it’s first thing in the morning. Being unprepared is like a death sentence with her.

I drag my ass back and pick up the messenger of evil.

Dean: Sorry for the delay. Something popped up that I had to take care of.

Hmmm, maybe it’s not completely evil. I open the picture he’s attached andholyguacamole! It’s a shot of him wearing nothing but a pair of fitted, black boxer briefs. The bulge matches the dick from his earlier pic, so I’m assuming it’s from the same body. His, maybe, or else from someone’s Pinterest dream board? Regardless, it’s a body made for pleasure – mine.

The pic is taken from an angle that shows everything from his square chin, complete with the requisite dimple, down to his knees. All things in between are pure, unadulterated goodness and, from the curve of his rippling abs to the cording in his thigh muscles, scream touch me.

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