Page 27 of Bastard In A Suit

Chapter 11

I’m halfwaythrough a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream when my text message buzzes. I consider ignoring it.

Another buzz.

Fuck.

I know it’s going to be Forrest (Jake’s too busy moping about his ex) bugging me as to what happened after they left the office.

If I don’t turn the cell off, I don’t have a hope in hell of kicking this insomnia in the face. It’s probably a lost cause either way. I stab at another spoonful of ice cream, watching as it slithers off the spoon and back into the tub, half melted.

My insides are a bloody mess.

I keep replaying the scene—keep telling myself I didn’t do anything wrong. My intentions were good. And yet I still, somehow, ended up flat on my back with my boss’s tongue between my thighs.

And…bam! Just like that, I’m wet all over again.

I wind my hair into a pony tail and pile it loosely on top of my head. My reflection in the mirror is distorted without my glasses, but I already know what’s there. A plain Jane. Boring. Naïve. I don’t know what game Duke Kingston is playing with me, but I know this for sure: I’m losing.

His last words replay over and over in my mind. You can go.

How was I supposed to respond? Should I have unzipped his pants and taken his cock into my mouth?

Lord knows I wanted to. It’s not like the invitation was there.

I toss my spoon in the ice cream bucket and dump everything in the sink. My phone buzzes yet again. I snatch it off the counter prepared to fire off a firm text to Forest instructing him to leave me the hell alone.

But the texts aren’t from my business partner. They’re from Duke. I walk back to my bed, reading the messages, my eyes widening.

I can still taste you.

Are you awake?

Hailey?

My stomach goes all fluttery. I punch in a response. Erase it. Try again.

I’m absolutely shit at flirting. I start a new text. Change my mind. Back space, back space, back space. Jesus this is hard. I’m here, I type in finally, pressing send. It’s the best I could do.

What are you wearing? He fires back.

My grin widens. Not underwear. None left.

I’ll buy you a lingerie store.

The fluttering in my stomach picks up speed. I imagine Duke on the other end of the phone, smiling a little bit perhaps. It’s not at all the persona he shows face-to-face, but this flirty guy? Yeah, I could fall for someone like that.

I type back quickly. At this rate, I’ll need the whole chain of stores.

Take my suggestion and go without.

There’s a long pause as I try to figure out what to respond. He jumps in. I’m picturing your pussy right now.

My throat makes some kind of strangled groaning sound. Jesus. I refuse to repeat last night’s behavior, but I’m already wet. Get some sleep, I text.

Tease.

I chew on my lower lip as a million responses come to mind, all of them too intimate, too personal. I want to invite him into my bed—not this bed, but a bed, or suggest we head back to the office to pick up where things left off. I want to say I wish we were sleeping together or that I miss him, or even that I really enjoyed this morning’s punishment—and pleasure.

Instead I type: Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

I prefer to do the biting.Night.

My stomach does a full-on flip. I press my cellphone against my chest, heart racing. Is it possible Duke is actually…dare I think it…interested in me?

Truly interested?

That might be the most frightening possibility of all.