Page 12 of Handle Me

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” I already knew she did. I caught the way her eyes skirted down my body when she thought I wasn’t looking. She might have ceased control. She might have gotten off in her dirty dreams. But she was stretched as taut as a tightrope.

“I’ll pass,” she said dryly. “I’m sure you have another loo around here.”

“What about your clothes? Do we need to stop by your place and pick something up? I wouldn’t want anyone at the track to get the wrong idea.”

Her nostrils flared again, and I made a mental note to track this phenomenon. Something told me it was one of her tells. I just wasn’t sure yet what it was saying. “I have my bags with me. No need to worry about my reputation.”

I laughed. “It’s not your reputation I’m worried about, boss.”

The smile fell from her face. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I lingered in the doorway as she marched out of my bedroom. Before she reached the hall, I delivered one final blow to her carefully-composed reality. “And Lola?” I called her name and she pivoted toward me. “With all due respect to your biological impulses, when you’re finally ready to ask for what you need, I’ll be waiting.”

“And what do I need, Mr. Stone?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

I answered with my heart, as sincere as any genuine moment I’d ever shared with her. “What you need is a good shag.”

CHAPTER SIX

LOLA

I was going to piss my sister off…just as soon as I reached her. When she’d asked me to intervene and help Anders, she failed to mention that he was a giant ass. The fact that she was conveniently not answering her phone or returning any of my calls probably wasn’t a coincidence. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d sent me here.

I redialed her, and it went straight to voicemail.

“Clara, you owe me big time for this. Like, I’m going to need a list of all your husband’s houses, so I can pick one to recuperate in after I’m done dealing with this wanker.” I sighed, knowing she had way more important concerns occupying her time. “Call me back.”

I’d left my bag in the front entry, and I lugged it into one of the guest rooms on the first level. Why did he need a place this big? Half the rooms were empty. There was hardly any furniture. What was the point? The room I’d found myself in must have functioned as a guestroom because it was properly put together. Although, I struggled to believe Anders had done it himself.

Nightstands sat on either side of the double bed, each with a small brass lamp. I plopped my luggage onto the floral quilt that was both welcoming and out of place. The room was cozy and far more lived-in feeling than the rest of the house. I wandered into the attached bath and opened a drawer in the vanity. Inside was a toothbrush and some face cream. Another drawer revealed lipstick and bobby pins. I guessed Anders had a lot of women spend the night, but whoever used this room felt comfortable here. Had he made space for her, or had she done it herself? Given the spartan accommodations in the rest of his house, it was hard to imagine he cared either way. Still, whoever she was, she hadn’t dared to put her belongings in his room.

I closed the drawers and turned my attention to the mirror. I’d looked worse. My hair was a mess, thanks to my falling asleep without putting it up properly. My lashes could use a good fluff, and the remnants of yesterday’s makeup needed to come off. Not that I had much time to get myself in order. I refused to walk out of here looking like a mess, though. The last thing I needed was to send Anders any more mixed signals. How could I convince him that he needed to care about how he looked if I was a wreck? Digging my brush and toiletries out, I tamed my hair into a polished topknot. Then I committed the cardinal sin of cosmetics by touching up my makeup from yesterday instead of starting over. With any luck, I’d be mostly ready before he managed to be out of the shower.

Memories of him standing in the shower jumped to mind, but I shoved them aside. The last thing I needed to do was think about him in the shower. Or think about him naked. Or think about him at all, for that matter. So, I’d come here to help him. That didn’t mean he needed to occupy my every waking thought, right?

But not thinking about Anders was easier said than done, especially after the accidental orgasm he’d given me this morning. That was just an embarrassing mistake. We had both been half asleep and acting purely on some primal instinct. It hadn’t meant anything, and neither had my dreams. He had starred in my dreams because he’d swallowed up most of my day with his shenanigans. And the dreams had been sexual because he’d flirted—or maybe harassed was a better word—me right before I’d come to his house last night. All of it could be explained.

I shimmied out of yesterday’s jeans and yanked off my thong, which was soaked thanks to the stolen moment I’d had with him. Just the memory sent a spike of arousal through my core. Without him here to remind me why it would have been a terrible idea—a service he provided effortlessly every time he opened his mouth—I wondered what would have happened if things had gone any further. We’d been a few layers of fabric away from crossing the line entirely. I’d been this close to knowing exactly what he could do with that massive equipment he kept putting on display. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be disappointed. He knew how to use his hands.

“Stop!” I ordered myself. “You are not some horny schoolgirl. You are a confident, sexy woman who can do better than Anders.”

“Agreed,” a deep voice added, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Do you knock?” I shrieked, grabbing the first thing poking out of my bag and pinning it over my bare lower half. Unfortunately, I’d grabbed a lacy chemise that obscured very little and only seemed to draw more attention to my half-dressed state.

“The door was open,” Anders said, lounging against the wall. He didn’t look away. He didn’t pretend to be a gentleman. He let his eyes wander across me slowly. I felt them wander over every inch of bare skin. He studied me with the intensity of a man enjoying an exhibit in a gallery. “Besides that, I showed you mine.”

“Which I never asked you to do,” I hissed, wishing my top went past my navel.

“I just came to tell you I was ready.” He glanced over at my bag. “You aren’t staying here, are you?”

I rolled my eyes. My sister had arranged a royal residence nearby for my use. That was one of the perks of having a family in positions of authority. I was about to tell him that and remind him I’d be thrilled to never step foot in his home again when it hit me: Anders responded to pressure. He’d gotten ready in record time, even for a guy. If I exerted a little more force, I might turn him into a diamond. And the best way to apply that pressure, was consistently. I arranged my face into a cool composition, which was a feat considering how terribly exposed I felt. Playing it cool while knickerless wasn’t for the faint of heart. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” He shrugged. “Not for me.”

“Or me,” I said firmly. He could read whatever he wanted into our encounter in bed, but that had been an accident—and a mistake I wouldn’t make twice. “May I use this room?”

“I’m not using it.”