Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,10
would have guessed you’re into that kind of stuff, but I’m game if you are.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why am I not surprised you went there?”
She spins on her heel to go hang Roscoe’s leash on the hook by the door where, until he showed up, I kept my keys. Her hair swirls around her face as she turns, and I catch a whiff of her. Even hot and slightly sweaty from being dragged around midsummer Manhattan by the quadruped from hell, she smells fucking fantastic, like sunshine and strawberries, with a dash of vanilla. The urge to lean in and inhale—or devour—her is strong, but I marshal all my powers of resistance and retreat behind the kitchen island, hoping a three-hundred-pound slab of marble between us will be enough to keep my hands to myself and my dick in my pants.
“Um, because I’m a guy?” I yank open the stainless steel sub-zero fridge and pull out a Gatorade. Cool Blue, my favorite. I crack it open, take a long swig, then catch Ainsley’s eye. My mouth engages before my brain, making me instantly regret what comes out of it next.
“Want one?”
It’s official. I’m a fucking moron. I’m supposed to be hustling this girl out of my apartment, not inviting her to stay for goddamn tea and crumpets. Or electrolytes. I mentally cross my fingers, hoping she’s got some superimportant engagement to run off to. Like getting her nails done. Or watching paint dry.
She pauses, then shrugs, pulls out a stool and takes a seat at the island, resting her forearms on the Calacatta marble my designer had flown in from Italy at a cost of I-don’t-want-to-know. “Why not?”
Fucking A.
I grab another Gatorade out of the fridge and slide it across the counter to her. “I hope blue’s okay. It’s all I’ve got.”
Another shrug as she twists the cap off. “I’m not picky.”
“Where were you?” I ask, finally getting around to the question that’s been nagging me since I opened my door and found my apartment dogless. “I thought you took Roscoe out hours ago.”
I sneak a glance toward the living room and see the dog in question occupying most of my designer leather sofa. Not the doggie bed, but at least it’s better than my California king. He’s out cold, his head lolled back and his eyes closed. Wherever Ainsley took him, she sure ran him ragged. I should probably be thanking her for wearing him out, not giving her the third degree.
“I did.” She tips her head back to take a sip, and I’m riveted by the curve of her lips and the long line of her throat as she drinks. Fuck, I’m turning into some sort of pervert, getting off on the simple but suddenly strangely seductive act of a woman swallowing. Fortunately for me, the sip is a quick one. Unfortunately, her next action—licking her lips—is no less sexually arousing. “My schedule was jam-packed this morning, so I took him along with me on a few errands. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You took him along with you?” I repeat like a robot. My brain seems to have short-circuited, stuck on the image of her downing that Gatorade.
“Yeah. He was a big hit with the crowd at TKTS. My mother was less enthusiastic, but that was fun, too.”
I don’t want to dig into what’s obviously a less than perfect relationship with her mom, so I opt for the next worst thing—guilt tripping her. “Next time shoot me a text and let me know if you’re going to have him out that long. I was about to call 9-1-1.”
Her face falls. “Seriously?”
“Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little.” I lean against the counter and swig my Gatorade. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. My parents would kill me if anything happened to Roscoe. I’m convinced they like him better than me.”
“I’m sorry.” She sets her drink down. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Brie says you work pretty much 24/7.”
So she’s been talking to Brie about me. Interesting. I throw caution to the wind and take the stool next to her, sitting so close we’re practically touching from shoulder to thigh, her strawberry vanilla scent threatening to pull me in and drag me under. “Really? What other lies has my beloved big-mouthed little sister been spreading about me?”
Her breath hitches ever so slightly and her nipples look like they could poke holes through her romper, living proof