Krav Maga trainer had drilled into me.
Not that I had one thing to fear from Hendrix Malone—he would go to blows for me—he would never hurt me. But the classes weren’t all about self-defense—they were also about self-reflection and self-worth. And I made sure to focus on those aspects as my inner self-doubt reared its ugly head. Shouting things at me like, inexperienced, not good enough, untouchable, not worth the hassle.
I swallowed the knot in my throat, lifting my chin just a bit as I smoothed my fingers over my chosen armor for tonight—the pajama shorts and off-the-shoulder sweater I’d chosen and displayed for London earlier. This would be a business transaction, and it was with someone I trusted. That's all that mattered. And once it was done, that self-doubt would have no more fuel for its ugly words.
Hendrix opened the door after one timid knock, his blue eyes going from calm and subdued to wide and fiery in the span of a blink. His gaze was slow, shocked, and this side of hungry as he looked his fill from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I simply arched an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" There was a deep growl in his voice that did things to my body. And when he stepped out of the doorway to silently invite me in? I may have put a little bit more swing in my hips as I slid past him.
He groaned as my backside came into his line of sight, not entirely because of my ass, I believed, but the fact that I had his name and number scrawled across my shoulder blades.
"What?" I asked innocently. "You said to wear my sweats." I raised my hands out horizontally, spinning to face him as I stopped in what was his main living room just off the entryway door.
Sleek, lush furniture scattered about in a cozy kind of way, the far wall made up of shelves that reached the ceiling, half stacked with books and others stacked with trophies or pictures.
"If those are sweats," Hendrix said, taking up a lean against the couch across from me. "Then where the hell is the rest of them?"
I flashed him my most confident smirk even though my heart was racing. "You don't like what you see?"
He gave me a chiding look that screamed I knew better, and a warm shiver danced along my spine.
"So?" I asked when the silence became so wound tight I thought I might break. I glanced at the coffee table that rested before the couch. "Is this where you give me a contract? List all the do's and do not’s? All the hard limits, Mr. Grey?" I teased. "I know I'm not the most experienced, but you'd be surprised what my little mind has conjured up in the last few weeks. I've always been a risk-taker, and never say no to a challenge."
Hendrix arched a brow at me, pushing off the couch until he stood an arm’s length away. I was tall, I always had been, but I still had to crane my neck up to meet his gaze. And it was burning.
Burning straight through me like a line of liquid heat to my core. My breath caught in my lungs, and I did my best to keep my features smooth and calm. Giving nothing away at the effect he had on me from merely standing there. The last thing I needed was him catching a whiff of my nervousness about the whole situation and backing out of the deal. I wanted this, more than anything—I just couldn’t stop the doubt from filling my. Doubt screaming I wouldn’t be enough for him, wouldn’t be entertaining enough, engaging enough to hold a candle to all the other women he’d been—
"This isn't a book or movie," Hendrix said, thankfully cutting off my spiraling. He waved his finger between us. "And you are not the one in control here."
I pursed my lips, tilting my head. "Being in control is why I'm here. I'm making a choice. Taking this into my own hands."
"If you could take it into your own hands, butterfly, you wouldn't have a use for me now, would you?" His voice had dipped down an octave, sending chills dancing across my exposed skin.
His eyes were a crushing blue and flickered with an intensity of heat just beyond the surface that made every inch of my body liquid. The line of