“Yeah. She texted me that she had a work call to take in her room. She warned me not to sing in the shower, in case her editor heard.” Ryan leans against the doorway, looking completely nonchalant.
“Really? On Christmas?” Mom asks.
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know. Must be an advice column emergency or something.”
“Oh! Did you get the camera thing working on Pippa’s phone?”
“Yeah. After I’m dressed, I’ll check on her. If she’s just sitting there staring at the cat, I’ll drag her downstairs with me.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you both in a few!”
Mom’s footsteps recede down the hall, and Ryan shuts the door. I throw his pillow at him.
“What the hell, Ryan?” I hiss. “She could have peeked in and seen me!”
He gestures down at his towel. “No, she wouldn’t. Secret weapon. Emily hates talking to me in a towel. She always stares down at the floor. I had to buy you some time to put yourself back together.”
Heat floods my face. I don’t have to check a mirror to guess what I must look like right now. Messy hair, ruined make-up, with a flushed face and a just-fucked glaze over my eyes. Jesus,I’m still wearing a Santa hat and my heels, for fuck’s sake. I probably look insane.
Apparently, Ryan likes insane, because he takes one last slow, longing look at me. “Damn. You’re a work of art, Pips.”
I laugh. The orgasms still have me on a crazy high. “Then you’re the artist.”
Ryan’s eyes darken, and for a second, I think he’s going to come right back to bed to ravage me all over again.
My clit throbs. Apparently, it doesn’t hate the idea.
Instead, he shakes his head and quickly throws his clothes back on. With one last wink, he leaves me to, somehow, pull myself back together.
23
RYAN
“Can you drive any faster?”
I frown at Pippa over in the passenger seat. “You’re kidding. I thought you’d be begging me to slow down.”
“I have to get home to check on Waffle before I go into the office,” she says. “I’m worried I won’t have time.”
“Waffle’s fine. Cat’s been keeping an eye on her.”
“Unless she got busy with work or Nate and forgot,” Pippa points out.
I shake my head. “Cat wouldn’t forget. She’s probably spoiling Waffle with fresh fish and mountains of catnip. I bet your hellcat is probably in such feline heaven, she doesn’t even want you to come home.”
“You’re probably right,” Pippa says, sighing. “I know it’s irrational, but I haven't left Waffle home by herself for more than a day since I got her. Plus she’s in a new apartment. Maybe she trapped herself in a room, or her automatic feeder stopped working.”
Pippa’s manicured fingers tap the armrest, an outlet for her nervous energy. If I weren’t driving, I’d grab that hand and puteach finger in my mouth to suck on them until her worry was replaced by horniness.
Since I can’t do that without crashing the car, I’ll have to find another way to help.
“Look, how about I drop you off at the office, then I’ll check on Waffle for you?” I offer. “I’ll even send you a proof of life picture with today’s newspaper.”
“You would?” She shoots me a grateful smile.
“Sure. I owe you a favor, after what you let me do last night.”
Pippa’s cheeks turn pink, and I know she’s remembering it all, just like I am.
