“Maybe. You into that sort of thing?”
“Mmm, no. Not my kink of choice.” I smirk as I pour the water into the mugs.
“Don’t talk about kinks, Spitfire. And while we’re on the subject, you should really put some clothes on. Walking around here looking like that. It can’t be warm.”
“Just trying to keep it fair since you can’t change. You sure you don’t want me to see if the robe would fit you?”
“I’m good. I prefer cold dignity to warm humiliation.”
“Fair…” I grin and dip the tea bag in and out of the water. “We could get under the covers in the bed. That would at least help. See if there’s something we can watch on TV while we wait for your clothes to dry.”
His eyebrow creeps up as he looks at me, glancing down at his mug and then at me.
“You’re suggesting we both crawl half naked into your bed?”
“No. I’m suggesting two cold people get under a blanket and watch some TV so they don’t freeze to death while they wait on the dryer.”
“Right.” He stares down at his mug.
“Can’t handle it?” I taunt him, not even trying to hide the little smirk that comes to my face.
“How about you change out of the lingerie into something warmer, and I’ll get under the blankets while you stay on top of them?”
A laugh tumbles out before I can stop it, and I bite my lower lip. A grouchy look crosses his face, and he frowns at me.
“This amuse you, Spitfire?”
“That Tobias Westfield is worried about being under a blanket with me? Yeah. I’m amused.” I take a sip of my tea. “I think you can handle it. Let’s go.” I nod toward my room, but he doesn’t follow.
“Scarlett… I’m doing my fucking level best here thinking the unsexiest thoughts I can imagine, keeping my eyes down, and trying my fucking hardest not to cross any lines with you while you stand around in see-through lingerie and talk about your ‘kinks of choice’. A lesser man would have caved by now and put you on your fucking back in the bed.” His eyes lift from his mug and under his thick lashes, his blues are smoldering with the threat.
I’m pretty sure I don’t get a second chance like this, and I’m thirty now, so fuck it.
“I think I’d rather have the lesser man tonight.”
Apparently, I’ve given him the permission he was looking for, or the bait, because a second later he slides his mug on the counter, grabs mine out of my hand and deposits it on the table, hauling me up into his arms. He crosses the apartment and pushes the door to my room open, depositing me on the bed a second later, pinning me to the mattress.
He opens his mouth to speak when something catches his eye, and he turns his head. He stares at the desk in the corner of my room. It’s set up to film my History Harlot videos, with two cameras, a large monitor, and a big comfy chair. His eyes narrow and he blinks, and then he looks back at me.
“Are you—I’m asking this without malice or judgment to be clear—but are you a fucking cam girl, Spitfire?”
I burst out into laughter, and his frown deepens.
“No. I wish.”
His eyes widen, and he blinks.
“I film history content. Educational content. I have a video channel that people subscribe to, so kind of a cam girl. Doesn’t pay nearly as well. I’ve thought about trying it, but I chicken out every time.”
“What do you mean you chicken out?”
I feel the heat of his gaze, and I swallow against my dry throat. “Um… I’ve tried filming a few times. But deleted them.”
“Holy fuck.” He groans closing his eyes.
“What?”
“Sometimes I think you’re cosmic punishment. Sent to torture me for all the wrong shit I’ve done over the years. Too many fucking coincidences for it otherwise.” He takes a breath and blows it out slowly like he’s trying to regain his composure.
