Page 59 of Parting Shot

“You need to loan me some underwear!” he shouted.

And it should not have been hot that he was going to put on a pair of my briefs, but just the thought of it made me hard.

“Or I can just go commando!”

In a two-thousand-dollar suit, now that was practical.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my phone, which I had forgotten to plug into the charger––like I was going to think of that when being mauled by Aaron––was now plugged in. He must have done it when I first got in the shower. When I checked it, a call had come in, which meant he’d answered it, seen that the battery was about dead, and hunted around to try and help me out. That part was thoughtful; the privacy part was odd.

I had on jeans and a pale gray henley, and I was threading my belt when Aaron came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest.

“Your skivvies are on the bed,” I let him know, twisting my head so he could reach my mouth. “But they’re just a loan. I want ’em back.”

The noise he made was a purr and moan mixed up together before his lips slid over mine. I opened for him, shifting in his arms to face him, and took his face in my hands.

Kissing the man was a religious experience. He tasted so good, and I wanted more. I wanted to devour him, but my brain kicked in, and I shoved him off me.

“What?” he panted.

“My phone.” I swallowed. “Who called?”

“Nick,” he coughed out, reaching for the briefs. “Your phone rang when you went into the shower, and it was him.”

“And?”

“And I made it clear he couldn’t come back over here, that he wasn’t welcome.”

“You don’t even know what I needed to talk to him about.”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you wanted him for, I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Again, whatever it is, if it involves you, it’s my business, nobody else’s.”

“You just went ahead and answered my phone?” I put him on the spot, getting to the heart of the matter.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t think that was an invasion of my privacy?”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But there was no caller ID, so I had to see who it was.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t,” I pressed, even though I sort of did—or hoped I did.

“Because I don’t want you to date,” he snapped, obviously annoyed.

“I’m not dating anybody,” I fired back, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “And I wanted to talk to Nick about work.”

“Yes, I grasped that.”

“I need either him or Max to be my cover.”

“I have no idea what that means.” He exhaled sharply. “But I’ll do it instead.”