“Out,” he whispered.
She swallowed visibly but that was the extent of her further wasting his time. She hustled her admittedly sweet ass to get her shit and then she got out.
He pulled out his phone, started a string to the managers of the club and tapped in the text.
Find a new Ross.
He hit send and went home.
* * * * *
An hour later, Nick sat on his sofa, foot up, sole of his shoe pressed to the edge of the coffee table, the fingers of one hand wrapped around a glass of Dewar’s and ice, his other hand lifted, his eyes to Olivia Shade’s phone number written on his palm.
Christ, she was a cool customer.
After walking to him in that fucking skirt with that fucking look on her face that made him absolutely sure he could fucking smell the wet drenching her pussy…
Then taking his cock like she did, her eyes locked to his, her hips working his dick…
And finally coming with the demure noises a princess would make while her pussy told a different story and milked him hard.
After all that, walking like she was drifting through her living room in order to grab her panties, put them on, nab her purse and do nothing but nod before she was going to walk away from him.
He had not expected first contact to go that spectacularly well.
He expected eye contact. Maybe a few words exchanged. Enough she’d get he was into her kink so he could lay the groundwork when he ran into her elsewhere.
He didn’t expect to fuck her against the wall.
And certainly he didn’t expect that fuck to be that outstanding.
He also didn’t expect to feel whatever the fuck it was he felt coming off her after her orgasm milked his right out of him.
He had no idea what it was but whatever it was, he stayed buried inside her a lot longer than he’d intended.
And it made him uneasy.
She’d given nothing away after that and it was almost like he’d imagined it.
He stopped looking at her number, leaned forward, tagged his phone off the coffee table and sat back. He used his thumb to program her in.
And there she was. A bold Olivia Shade at the top of her contact.
Her there with him everywhere he went.
A Shade in his life.
He looked across the room to the chest against the wall where the framed picture of Hettie was. A picture that hadn’t moved for four years, except for when he moved house and when his cleaning service dusted it.
Fuck.
He put that thought aside, tossed the phone back to the table, nabbed his drink, threw it back, heaved himself out of the couch and went to bed.
* * * * *
Like he had a sixth sense (and in his business, he had to), Turner called him the next morning five minutes after Nick’s workout.
“You make contact yet?”