Page 43 of Stealing Blinds

SYLVIE

Visions of a sculpted chest, chiseled abs, a mouthwatering V, and broad, muscular shoulders, all covered in awe-inspiring ink, haunted my dreams last night. And my morning coffee. And my second shower.

I should be focusing on getting Cash out of here, or figuring out who sent that message in New York and what it means, or solidifying plans for my next job and the final one. On surviving. But my mind has obviously sided with my starved libido and rendered me impaired.

Maybe I could bend my self-imposed rules and enjoy a friends-with-benefits situation.

Not with him.

Once I throw jean shorts and a cropped T-shirt over my orange knit bikini—since my attempt at repelling Cash didn’t seem to do me any favors—I grab my beach bag and wander out to the kitchen. I haven’t seen him yet, even though my mother left breakfast for us with a note that she had to run a few errands. He’s probably a late sleeper since his role at La Lune Noire is entertainment.

I looked up everything I could about their resort last night. Entertainment seems to be theaters, a cabaret, elaborate parties, and Magie Noire—a sex club. So, my assumption that he is simply relishing the chase is probably correct. He has half-naked women surrounding him for work and play. That’s not exactly a revelation, I suppose.

I’m not insecure. There was a time that wouldn’t have bothered me. I know my worth, and I stand by the mindset that either you see my value or you move on. It’s not my loss if someone is blind to what I offer; it’s theirs. And I’m certainly no stranger to one-night trysts or flings. But I refuse to ever be foolish again and ignore the obvious signs right in front of me.

As I’m pouring coffee into a tumbler, Luella saunters in. With Cash.

“Oh good,” she sings. “Our girl is up.” She turns to him before I can even squeak out a greeting. “You have a good day, darling. Thanks for the chicory coffee.” She waltzes back toward the foyer, calling out, “See ya later, Sylvie. Don’t be afraid to put your money where your mouth is, sweetie. Or vice versa.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the ass, Lou,” I shout back, to which she cackles.

“I think she meant me.” A goading smile illuminates the arrogant Noire’s face as he thrusts his thumb toward his chest. “Cash.”

“I’m not so sure. There are a lot of synonyms for money.” I pick up a piece of bacon from the plate on the stove to illustrate my point and take a taunting bite with a low moan, my eyes never leaving his, except to flutter in enjoyment. “Either way, I’ve had my fill.”

His husky chuckle permeates the room as I set the bacon down and wash my hands.

He sidles up behind me, splays his hand over my stomach while devouring the strip of the meat I left behind, and growls in my ear, “When you realize how famished you are, you know where to sate your appetite.”

A baffling chill that heats every speck of my flesh blankets me. It’s all too much—his breath cooling my neck, his pecs skimming my back, his thumb dusting my ribs. Dangerous and tempting.

Realizing the two of us could volley innuendos all day, I forgo responding and simply grab my tumbler, beach bag, the keys to my mother’s Ford Bronco in the garage, and some other fun-in-the-sun accessories. He follows behind, and we drive to the beach with the doors off, the balmy, salt-scented wind whipping over us to the rhythm of Bob Marley and small talk.

He mentions that my mother had him move some boxes to Luella’s this morning, but that’s about it. I have a hunch he’s either waiting for me to take the lead or for the ideal moment to drop a bomb. Honestly, just holding his attention this long is perplexing. I doubt he’s ever even spent twenty-four hours with one woman.

I sip my coffee and glance his way to find him fixated on my legs. “You’ve never done the friend thing with a woman, have you?”

He wrinkles his brow line above the rim of his sunglasses. “Some of my best friends are women.”

“Mercy, Tessa, and Zara?”

“And my sister, Rena.”

“All related,” I point out as I turn into the parking lot, wave my mother’s parking pass to the guard, and proceed.

“So?”

I shrug and check the rearview mirror as I decide on a spot. “You don’t know how to do the friend thing.”

He steals my coffee, taking a hefty swig before setting it in the cupholder with a patronizing grin. “We both know you’re hoping I don’t know how to do the friend thing, so we can just get to the main event, but go ahead, Sly. School me.”

The fact that he can’t bear losing any type of challenge brings me endless joy. “Tell me something you wouldn’t tell someone you wanted to sleep with.”

He leans across the center console, his arm behind my headrest and his cologne coiling around me, so he’s right up in my space when I’m straightening the wheels. “No.”

Using my elbow, I playfully shove him back on his side before I cut the ignition. “Why not?”

“Because I do want to sleep with you, Palmer. Fuck knows why I’m being so patient with you stringing me along, but you will not castrate me so there’s no turning back. Fucking remains on the table.”