Page 20 of Miss Behaved
“Spanking.” Nadine thinks it over. “That will work. He is a bit of a control freak, after all.”
“We’re talking about a book again, right?” I say.
Agnes laughs. “Boy, if we were still your age, you wouldn’t know what hit you. But yes, in this case, we’re talking about a book.” She looks at Nadine. “It’s much more fun post-sexual revolution, don’t you think?”
Nadine nods.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
Agnes pats me on the shoulder. “Oh, I forgot, you write thrillers.”
Nadine’s nose scrunches, which seems to be the general consensus of my work among the writers at this retreat.
“What my dear friend is referring to is the freedom we have with writing sex in a contemporary setting.” Nadine folds her hands in her lap, and it’s a stark contrast to Agnes, who flails her hands about constantly. “Women are finally allowed to embrace sex. Enjoy it, want it. They don’t have to be handheld into it or shown anything.”
“And what they want is spanking?” I lift an eyebrow.
Agnes grins wide. “Dear, if you have to ask that question, you aren’t nearly as sexy as I thought you were.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
Being called sexy by a woman who could have birthed me is both awkward and a big compliment.
While Nadine and Agnes debate whips and floggers, a noise outside my hotel room catches my attention.
“One second.” I excuse myself and head toward it, realizing the ladies left my door slightly ajar.
I pull it open and see Monica scrambling on the floor. She must have dropped her purse because she’s picking up fallen lipstick and credit cards and stuffing them back into it. She looks up with a cautious smile and slowly starts to stand.
Is she moving in slow motion, or have I officially gone crazy?
Monica’s hair is pulled up into a wild bun with curls shooting out in all directions. It draws out her sharp cheekbones, which are painted with the slightest gold shimmer. She’s in a floor-length summer dress that flows around her ankles as she moves. And although it hides her curves, it’s held up by only two tiny strings that could slip off at any moment and instantly unwrap what’s underneath.
Fuck me.
“Carson,” Monica says with a nod before scanning me from head to toe. “You aren’t wearing that to dinner, are you?”
“You too?” I tip my head back. Apparently nothing impresses these women.
Monica gives me a curious look but doesn’t ask.
Agnes and Nadine’s laughs come from my room, and I think they might have gone for another bottle each. At this rate, I’ll be forced to go to dinner just to keep them standing.
“You have guests.” Monica’s eyes shoot to the almost-closed door over my shoulder. The pace of her breaths quickens, and I think for a moment that she might be jealous.
“I do.” I look down at her, and she swallows hard, clutching her purse against her stomach. As good as it feels knowing I still have some kind of effect on this woman, I don’t want her mind running wild. My chances are already slim enough.
I reach for her hand, and to my surprise she doesn’t pull back as I take it in mine. It’s just her palm, but her skin feels good—so good. And smooth. I want it all over.
Pulling her behind me, I bring her into my room.
“Agnes, Nadine.” I nod toward each of them. “This is Monica Lopez—er, Meadows, I guess now.”
Their faces brighten, and I can picture them dressing us up and sticking us on the top of a wedding cake in their heads.
“I’m well aware of who this young lady is,” Agnes says, darting over to Monica and tugging her out of my grasp. Damn if my hand doesn’t suddenly feel cold. “Big fans here, darling. Big fans.”
Monica’s eyes brighten, and she shakes her head. “No,I’mthe fan. You both are incredible. I’ve been reading your work since I was—” She cuts herself off.
