That suit, the open neck collar, the way those trousers clung. He looked like an office fantasy and I couldn’t help but think of what we could do over a desk or on a boardroom table.
Maybe there was a room we could book here and make that happen.
The woman with Mork now was having trouble saying goodbye. I watched her hand on his arm, and even though it was brief, it contained meaning.
She wanted him.
I smiled, sipping on the negroni he’d bought me. She wanted him, but I was going to have him.
He walked back over, taking wide strides, his eyes only on me. I wanted to preen, or jump off my stool and run towards him, but that would only pull attention my way, and I didn’t need that.
I didn’t need Mork to know my real name, which definitely wasn’t Melinda or Mindy or Penny. My real name was too French sounding for my first agent, and my nickname, given to me by my younger brother who couldn’t pronounce Otillie, was suggested. It was unusual, and my agent insisted it suited me, although how I was like a brown river mammal, I wasn’t quite sure.
At least I hadn’t been nicknamed Beaver.
“Sorry.” He sat back down on the bar stool, his thighs bulging. “Business shit.”
“I get it.” I did. I had those meetings. They were boring, drier than a desert. “Have you done now for the day?”
He nodded. “Done with business. Not done with you.”
I smiled, hoping it looked seductive. “Why? What plans do you have with me?”
“I think you meanwhat plans do I have FOR you.”
That was enough to make my nipples harden and my thighs clench.
“Tell me, what do these plans involve?” There was a good chance my heart was going to need emergency treatment given the work it was doing right now. “I’m intrigued.” I crossed my legs, trying to look demure, and also trying to place a bit of pressure down below to sate the screaming my clit was doing right now. She remembered exactly how well this man had treated her.
He leaned forward, bringing his lips close to my ear. I caught scent of his cologne, spicy musk that was expensive and familiar. It had rubbed onto the sweater I’d worn intermittently during our time together in Houston. I still hadn’t washed that sweater.
“I seem to remember you have a penchant for lifts, Penny-now-Mindy So I might see how many floors it takes to get you off and have you coming on my fingers. My guess is about seven.”
He wasn’t touching any part of me, yet my body seemed to think his fingers and lips were already covering every inch.
Seven could be too few.
“You think a lot of your skills.”
His grin was deliciously dirty, his eyes flickering with fire. “I know a lot about my skills, and I seem to rememberPennyenjoyed them a lot.”
“Maybe Mindy is harder to please.”
“Maybe Mork has skills that Leonard didn’t show Penny.” His lips were almost pressing against my jaw. “It just depends if Mindy wants to experience them.”
A delicious shiver cascaded over my skin. “She would. Very much. I’m on the eighth floor, so you have one extra floor to prove your point.” I had very little doubt I’d be creaming on his hand before we got to my hotel room.
Fortunately, I was wearing the short skirt and fitted blouse still, the outfit I’d had on for pre-recording my interview in Media City for the new series that my agent had arranged. The studios of several big media companies were based just across the water from the hotel, a few bars and restaurants scattered across the way. One of the beauties about being here was that most of the staff were used to actors and musicians being around so they didn’t bat a lash about recognising anyone.
“Mindy, I’m not going to need it. Shall we go?”
I nodded, inching myself off the stool, my hair falling down, shielding my face. I’d kept my outfit on, mainly because I’d packed light for only two nights away, but the media make-up had been scraped off. I was an actress, I had ways of making myself look different for parts, so why not try to use some of them in real life.
Being recognised wasn’t a huge issue. Being recognised and being with a man who looked like Leonard-Mork would end up in the media and I didn’t need that level of gossip. The movie I’d shot with a previous Oscar winner could lead to a nomination for me, which would be one of my career goals achieved. I wanted to hit headlines for work reasons, not relationship ones.
But tonight, I wanted to hit something else.
It took five minutes of waiting until we could get into an empty lift. Five minutes where we stood a foot apart, his hands in his pockets, mine fidgeting with my bag, casting quick glances his way and wondering whether he was as needy as I was.
