‘The w-what? Oh, the gear—your suit. You scrub up well, I suppose. But isn’t it dangerous to ride a machine like that in just good tailoring?’ A dark blue suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and a tie that complements the brilliant shade of his eyes, knotted but loose from the collar. And a matching pocket square? He looks moreGQthan Mellors the gardener.
‘You think I should wear protection?’
I’mnottouching that. ‘Aren’t you supposed to wear leathers or something?’
‘That sounds like an invitation to star in one of your movies.’ His gaze flares cheekily, and then he’s in front of me, his eyes sliding over my shoulder to the darkened studio beyond. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
‘What for? Why are you here, Flynn?’
‘Maybe I’ve come to audition.’
‘We d-don’t audition. We interview. And in a public place.’
He sets off laughing. ‘You have hidden depths, my tiny, dirty girl.’
I frown and bite my lip rather than spit the words my brain has supplied—you wish—because that would probably take us tumbling down that tempting rabbit hole. And what would be the point of that? I’d just be repeating my mistakes. And that’s the definition of madness—doing the same thing over and over while expecting the results to change.
The jet black helmet dangles from his fingers of his left hand as he uses his other to loosen the single button on his suit jacket, only to slide that hand into his pants pocket.
‘You spend an awful lot of time with your hands in there.’ I glance down, automatically feeling the need to qualify the statement. ‘In your pocket, I mean.’ I continue to stare at the outline of his hand through the expensive suiting.
‘You’re doing it again.’ His voice is almost a whole octave lower, a hint of gravel in his tone. ‘You’re looking at me like you’re imagining me without my clothes. And I fuckin’ love it.’
‘Is it a comfort thing?’ I ask, ignoring both his tone and his dangerous words and keeping my eyes studiously from his. On second thought, staring at his pants as though wearing X-ray specs isn’t sending the right kind of message, either. As I lift my head, like a magnet, my gaze is drawn to his, my mouth running away with me again. ‘Or do you just like to make sure it’s still there?Constantly.’
‘You’re asking me if I like touching my own dick? Are you the masturbation police, Chastity? Feel free to say yes because I think you might need to take me prisoner.’
‘I didn’t remember you mentioning that you wanted to write scripts as part of the consult.’ Snark. This tone of voice and I are very familiar where Flynn is concerned.
‘Do you remember the rest of that statement? I’m only interested in consulting with one thing.’
I remember all right. And that particular part of my anatomy remembers, too, as it begins pulsing. Because he’d said he wanted to consult with my pussy before proceeding to convene with it in the most intimate of ways. He gave me more orgasms that night than I thought were possible, and certainly more than I’d had in the previous six months. It’s like I’d been storing them just for him or something.
I clear my throat, not trusting myself to speak. Flynn Phillips is like a ninja at dirty talking and probably holds a bachelor’s degree in innuendo. And this is coming from someone who makes their living by thinking up sexy, barely there plots.
‘Invite me inside, duchess, and I’ll refresh your memory.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ I tighten my grip on the door even though my statement is only partially true because my body is all for letting him in.. . wherever. Wherever he’d like to go.
‘Paisley tells me you’ve got a killer coffee machine in there.’That accent. Kills. Me.‘Says she’s the only one who’s been able to work out how to use it.’
‘And that’s supposed to spur me to make a decision?’ I answer as I fold my arms. ‘To prove to you that I can master the coffee machine?’
‘You master a lot of things, including me,’ I think he says, but he speaks his words so quietly and quickly, I can’t be sure. He shrugs, then looks around, his hand rasping against the days’ stubble on his chin as he whispers an almost inaudible, ‘Fuck,’to join his other mumblings.‘Hold that for me, would you?’ he adds in a more normal tone, though just as quick, and he thrusts the helmet at me, forcing me to unfold my arms.
In the haste of the moment, I drop my keys into the bowl of the thing. And as my head comes up, I have neither the time to notice nor complain, not as Flynn takes my face in his hands to deliver the most perfect of kisses—sweet and soft but not without a delicious edge. The vibration of his groan as I open for his tongue brings my lust for this man from a simmer to a flame. But regretfully, it isn’t long before he pulls away and leaves me standing there, panting and almost without breath.
‘Put me out of my misery, Chastity. Let me in.’What am I doing here?I ask myself, even as I step to the side to allow him to pass.
I close the door, the majority of the light cutting out, and honestly, I’m still wondering what I’m doing—whathe’sdoing—as I set his helmet down on a stack of boxes in the hallway.
‘We’re just hanging out, shooting shit. No need to worry.’ His tone is mild as I turn to face him with my apparently questioning face. ‘Just like mates.’
I don’t for one minute think of us as friends, though it occurs to me he probably is the kind of person who makes a good friend. He’s quick to laugh and to make others join in, whether with him orathim, and his carefree nature is almost infectious and certainly good to be around.At least, when he’s not bugging the shit out of me.But something tells me Flynn Phillips isn’t all laughs and frippery. The man has substance to him, too.
But his is all moot as I’m not in the market for new friends, especially with him.Friends don’t fuck like we have. Like we... do?
‘But what are you doing here—here, exactly?’ I point at the industrial carpeted floor of the hallway. ‘How did you even know where to find me?’
