‘Darlin’, listen—’
‘It’s not my fault I just don’t get sex! I mean I get it, the attraction and the tingles, but when it boils down to it? Pfft! Nothing—boring!’
‘I think that’s the sort of thing you should talk about with your friends.’ She looks back at me blankly. Maybe she’s shocked that she’s divulged as much. ‘You know, when you have your pals around, and the lot of you are into your sixth bottle of prosecco, then someone breaks out theall-men-are-shitetalk?’
‘Your cheeks have gone red.’ Her tone is accusing, her gaze no longer fiery but full of mirth. Or it might be more madness.
‘Aye, well, I don’t want you to embarrass yourself.’
‘Huh.’ She tilts her head to the side like a terrier I used to own.My ex-wife got him, too.‘Well, why should I expect anything different?’ she says, her shoulders lifting and falling in a motion of futility. ‘I can’t get off in the bedroom, so it stands to reason I’d end up with the most squeamish male escort in town.’
Oookay. We’re getting to the heart of the matter. A lack of orgasm would make me a wee bit crazy, too.
‘Far be it from me to interrupt your soliloquy, hen, but I’m certainly not squeamish. And I’d like to point out that you and I have never done the dirty deed. If we had, you’d remember. And you wouldn’t be over there ranting. You’d be over here—’
‘I bet your dirty talk game is pretty weak.’
‘—sitting on my face.’ My dirty talk game is just fine, thanks.
‘You ... I... ’
Once she realises she’s catching flies again, she closes her mouth with a snap. Her eyes do one more sweep of my person, her gaze now appearing unimpressed. But she can pretend all she likes ’cause I saw her the flare in her gaze just now. And I saw her gawking when I turned on the light. But then my mind snags on something she said.
‘Hang on—back up a bit. Male escort?’
‘Don’t try to deny it. This had Mo written all over it.’
‘Aye, whatever. I need you to back up a bit more. Who is this Mo, and what has he got to do wi’ it?’
‘Really? We’re playing that game. Fine, we’ll talk about Mo, but first you need to put your money where your mouth is.’
‘Come again?’
‘Like you could make me,’ she says with a derisive huff.
A burst of laughter explodes from my throat. ‘If I wasn’t so sure you’d escaped from some kind of secure mental facility, I might take you up on that.’
‘That’s rich coming from a man who has sex for money.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ I grumble, dragging my hands down my tired face. I don’t know any single man who wouldn’t fuck someone as lovely looking as her, and that’s without the added incentive of cash—even as mental as she is.
‘Oh. Are you one of those gigolo types who onlydatesfor cash? No,’ she adds quickly, answering her own question.Because why on earth would she need me for a conversation?‘That wouldn’t make sense. You wouldn’t be in naked and in my bed. Besides, why would Mo book—’
‘Fuck Mo,’ I growl, throwing back the bedding. Her eyes widen, and she stumbles back. So much for her big talk. If the prospect of seeing cock has her clutching her pearls, she can’t handle male escorts, fake or otherwise. And what kind of man climbs under the covers wearing pyjama pants when he’s expecting a woman to join him? If I’d known she was coming, I was more likely to wrap a ribbon around it. ‘I dunno about you, but I need a drink.’
‘Oh, Lord.’ Her pale dainty hand spreads across her chest. ‘You had me worried for a minute there.’ Her fingers pressed against her skin seem to remind her of her somewhat underdressed state, her hand hovering ineffectually over her pink and black bra before she swings around to face the wall.
‘Dinnae fash,’ I mutter as I brush past her on my way to the stairs, trying not to inhale any more of her floral scent than is necessary. ‘Your modesty’s safe with me just now.’
