The Mix-Up (Southern Hearts Club #3) - Melanie Munton Page 0,58

a moment to recover from the shock.

But here’s the thing, I’ve been sitting motionless in the same spot for hours with a glazed look on my face. If you didn’t know me and didn’t know that the closest I’ve ever come to meditating was when I got higher than Apollo 13 off some stellar weed that my Jamaican former neighbors gave me, then you would think I’ve converted to Buddhism.

Let me just say, my insides are anything but at peace right now.

Because there’s a man in my bed.

My boss, to be more specific.

Why didn’t I kick Ryder out last night? Why didn’t I boot him to the curb before I fell asleep? Why in God’s name did I let him stay?

Probably because the sex didn’t actually stop until four o’clock this morning.

Ryder definitely made every second of our “one night only” count. Literally. The man has stamina for days. He just kept going like a sex-crazed Energizer Bunny, defying all logic by pounding those drums even after the batteries in his little butt went dead. His dick didn’t even get soft until after the third round. And mind you, there was a lot of foreplay in between those rounds.

The old hag tuts disapprovingly. We called your kind loose back in my day, girlie. Fresh women.

We covered every square inch of my loft. No surface was left undefiled by the time we dragged ourselves into bed and instantly passed out from exhaustion. Ever since I was startled into consciousness two hours ago by the presence of a warm body next to mine in bed, I’ve been sitting cross-legged on my living room rug, staring out the window at absolutely nothing. I managed to nakedly stumble into the bathroom and throw on my robe before I collapsed in this heap on the floor. Since then? I’ve been numb.

That is, until Ryder leaves my bed.

I hear every squeak of the bedsprings as he moves around in the next room, followed by the creaking of the hardwood floor as he leaves it.

“I see the regretting phase has started early,” he deadpans after entering the living room.

I don’t turn around. “I never said I regret anything.”

“I don’t think your face got that message.”

“You can’t even see my face.”

He snorts. “Like that bird outside your window is that fascinating.”

With a deep breath, I scoot my butt around on the rug, turning my folded-up body to face him.

Oh, and screw him.

A Hollywood hair and makeup crew must have visited my place this morning and forgotten about me. Because Ryder is beautifully disheveled with his stupid face stubble and sleep-rumpled hair that looks like it was purposely styled in those askew angles. His wrinkled slacks hang low on his hips with no belt. His white dress shirt is open, exposing his ripped-to-the-bone abs. And he’s got the glazed look of a well-fucked man who wouldn’t be opposed to some good old-fashioned morning-after shower sex.

While I look like a rabid raccoon that’s just come off a five-day bender.

“Forgive me if I don’t follow protocol here,” I say haughtily. “This isn’t exactly my schtick.”

“What isn’t? Letting your boss give you four screaming orgasms and going on a sex crime spree all over your place with him?”

Surrealism is starting to creep in.

“I vote for the name Sex Slaughterhouse.”

Ew. Nevermind. Sounded way better in my head.

He spreads his feet, his hands casually slipping inside his pockets. An authoritative pose. “Not used to kicking the guy out during daylight? You prefer that to happen under the cover of night?”

I don’t know what to make of the bitterness in his tone. “I wouldn’t know. You’re the first guy I’ve ever brought here.”

He narrows his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s pleased by the admission or not. And I don’t care either way. “FYI, coffee’s a good place to start.”

“Noted.”

“But I’m guessing you already knew that.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Intentionally not making it so I won’t stick around longer than you want me to? That move’s as old as the playbook itself, duchess.”

My mouth forms a thin line. “For the last time, I don’t play games.”

He tsks. “Ah, but you certainly have the strategy for them down well enough.”

That has me shoving to my feet, hands stamped on my hips. “I resent that. You’re the one who wanted one night, and you agreed to it. There’s no need for strategy when the outcome has already been written.”

“Then I guess I better haul ass out of here since it’s no longer night, huh?” he snaps.