Oh shit.
“I think you might have the wrong room,” I say, retreating a step when she reaches me.
“No, this is definitely the right room. Your friend told me exactly which one you sleep in.”
“My friend?”
“Rogan.”
“Rogan,” I repeat. Damn him! He did send me a woman for my birthday. I wasn’t kidding when I told Weatherly I thought she was a gift from him.
“How did he talk you into this?”
“We cater events for the studio all the time. I’ve known Rogan and his girlfriend for a while now. I asked if he knew you, told him we were doing some work up here. He told me it was your birthday. And what you wanted. I thought we’d be the perfect fit, since it just so happens that I want it, too.”
She rakes her short, clear-painted fingernails down my chest as she says this.
“Look, I’m sorry that you went to all this trouble, but—”
Her smile tells me it was no trouble long before her lips do. “Believe me, this will be all my pleasure.”
I figured. I knew it when I first met her. Like I said, I can spot these women a mile away.
She leans into me, pressing her tits up against my chest and dragging the nipples from left to right. I wrap my fingers around her upper arms and push her gently away. I’m debating the best way to blow her off without pissing her off, if for no other reason than to keep this from getting any more awkward. Unfortunately, I’m still thinking when Weatherly opens the door and walks in.
Even though her hair is tangled, even though her clothes are wrinkled, she’s still mouthwatering. She still pulls my attention, my desire like no one ever has, especially with her eyes flashing like violet flames. For a few seconds, all I can think about is how much I want her.
It’s when the two bright red spots appear on her cheeks and her mouth drops open that I realize what her beauty caused me to miss initially. That fiery little spark in her eyes and that hot little flush to her cheeks aren’t the result of lust. She’s mad. Mad as hell. And I know exactly why.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I begin, releasing Cher who is desperately trying to cover herself.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I thought we were alone.”
Weatherly turns her blazing eyes on Cher. “You thought you were alone? Does that really make a difference? Do you have any clue how inappropriate this is? Are you trying to lose your job?”
Cher blanches visibly. “No, ma’am! The guy, Rogan . . . his friend . . .” she tries to explain, hiking her thumb over her shoulder at me. She inches her way toward the clothes thrown over the back of an armchair in the corner as she continues in a stammer. “He . . . he assured me that this was okay. It’s . . . it’s . . . I’m a birthday present.”
Weatherly watches her with thinned, furious lips before she turns that withering look on me. “Well, I sure hope you enjoy your present.”
And with that, she turns on her heel and calmly exits the room. I have to grin when she closes the door rather than slamming it off its hinges, which is what I’d want to do. What I imagine that she wants to do, too. But a woman of her breeding would never make such a scene. It almost makes me want her more. I’ve seen firsthand the kind of fire she’s capable of, fire that seems to leap to life at the touch of my fingers or the lick of my tongue. But she can obviously control herself when she wants to. The fact that she doesn’t use that control when it comes to me . . . that she doesn’t want to . . . or that she can’t . . . Damn, that’s hot!
I glance at Cher on my way after Weatherly. “You won’t lose your job. I’ll make sure of it. Just get dressed and get back to work.”
I don’t catch up to Weatherly until she’s walking proudly out the front door. I don’t know where the hell she’s going, but I love that she’s going without thought of the two men who are watching curiously from just inside the dining room.
“Weatherly, wait!” I call as I barrel down the stairs. That only makes her speed up. I catch her before she can descend the steps out front, taking her gently by the arm to stop her. “At least give me a chance to explain.”
She whirls around, eyes spitting purple sparks. “Don’t bother,” she hisses through firmly gritted teeth. “I saw all the explanation I needed.”
She yanks her arm free and marches down the steps. With an exasperated shake of my head, I follow. “Damn it, Weatherly, do you really think I’m that stupid? That shallow?”
“Obviously you are,” she answers without turning around.
I lunge for her before she can get to the garage, to her car. “We can talk about your opinions of me later, then, but you can at least give me five minutes now.”