Dirty Money(23)

"I think they think I'm an escort," she whispers to me as we get in. "Did you see the way the clerk was looking at me?"

I didn't, but she might not be wrong. It's late at night and weird  things happen late at night, especially in hotels. I keep my arm at her  waist, feeling possessive of her. "Nah. They recognize class when they  see it. Probably just wondered what you were doing with me."

She's silent, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't believe me. But she's  still going upstairs with me, so it must not bother her that much.  'Sides, I think my girl has a secretly dirty side. I like it.

The room turns out to be bigger than my trailer. It's got a couch, a sea  of leather chairs accompanied by tiny wrought-iron tables, a huge  balcony view of the Riverwalk, and a ritzy bathroom with a spa tub and a  long marble counter. There's a bunch of ugly-ass art on the wall, which  makes me think they need to fire their decorator. At least the bed's  enormous, which is all I care about. I turn to Ivy. "You like it?"

"It's lovely." She gives me a faint, shy smile, then sets her purse down  and slips out of her high heels. As she moves around the room, I head  for the phone and the room service menu.

I dial the number.

"What can I get you, sir?" the voice on the other end asks.

"I want a bottle of your most expensive champagne and a couple of  lobsters." When Ivy wrinkles her nose, I add, "What you got for  dessert?" The man rattles off something in French, and I get two of it.  Because fuck it. I want to impress my lady.

"It'll be an hour," the person on the other end promises. "This late at night our special orders take a bit longer."

An hour's fine. I hang up and look over at Ivy, who's gazing out at the  Riverwalk below. She's fucking gorgeous in the moonlight, all soft  curves and long legs. She also looks . . . a little nervous. Her  shoulders are tense and she hugs her arms to her torso. Maybe she needs  something to occupy her. I know just the thing. "Well," I drawl. "You  wanna do the honors?"

"Honors?" She turns around and looks at me.

I scratch at my beard. "You said you wanted to shave me, right?"

Her cheeks flush prettily and she smooths her bun with one hand. "Isn't room service coming up?"

"It's gonna be an hour. That's enough time for you to get all naked and trim my beard, right?"         

     



 

She licks her lips and they part gently, as if she's considering it.

I nearly bust a nut in my pants at that small gesture because she's so  damn sexy. I'm a red-blooded man and I've wanted women in the past, but  there's something about Ivy Smithfield that makes me think I never knew  lust until I set eyes on her. She's changed the entire game for me.

"You shy?" I ask, half teasing. It makes my heart ache to look at her. So beautiful, and all mine.

"A little," she admits. "But I'll work through it." Ivy takes one last  look at the lights of the Riverwalk, and then she closes the balcony  doors and draws the curtain over it, making our room private. Her hands  go to the front of her jacket and she starts to undo the buttons. The  playfulness is gone from her expression, and she looks very serious, as  if she needs to concentrate to do this right.

Doesn't she know all she has to do is smile and I'm hers? I'm easy to  impress, and even easier to arouse, especially when it comes to her.

Her hands tremble as she slides her jacket off her shoulders, revealing  the silky pink-and-black bra that's been tormenting me via her low  neckline. Damn, she is fucking beautiful. Her belly is gently rounded  and her hips are curvier than I thought. Her breasts are high and a  perfect size, and her shoulders are a work of art. She's gorgeous . . .  and she looks so nervous she's breaking my heart.

On impulse, I start to undo my belt.

She freezes in place, her little nipples hard and pointing through the fabric. "What are you doing?"

"Gettin' naked with you, so you don't feel all uncomfortable."

The little giggle that escapes her warms me. "I don't know if I'm going  to feel better with you pantsless. What about when the food gets here?"

"I'll cover with a towel."

She gives a small little shake of her head, still smiling, and steps out  of her skirt. Now she's in nothing but her panties and matching bra,  and god almighty, it is a sight to see. Most beautiful woman I've ever  seen in my life, and her legs are a dream. I want to stare at her for  hours and drink in every beauty mark, every inch of skin, every strand  of hair. "Maybe you'd better leave your pants on. But you can take your  shirt off. Probably a good idea since it'll just get covered with hair."

I can do that. I immediately tug my shirt over my head and toss it to  the floor, and then wait for her to comment. I'm pretty cut, thanks to  my time on a rig, and I normally work out a few times a week just to get  some of the stress out. I'm not completely covered in tatts, though,  and I hope she wasn't expecting that. I have a few on my arms, and  that's it. But maybe she likes more? I hate the thought of disappointing  my woman.

Her eyes go wide as I rub my naked chest. She stares at me for a good,  long moment, and then her gaze flicks to my face. "I . . . oh."

"You what?"

Ivy's face goes beet red. "Nothing."

Amused at her reaction, I tease her a bit more. "You disappointed?" I pretend to grab my nonexistent beer gut.

"What? No!" She presses a hand to her cheek, and then moves closer to  me. "I like the way you look. I was just . . . surprised. I don't know  why. I guess maybe I expected you to look . . . less . . . ?"

"Rugged?" I supply. "Amazing? Manly?" I flex again, because how can you refer to yourself as manly and not flex that shit?

Her hands go to my chest and she traces her fingers down my pectorals.  Just like that, I forget all about teasing. Her small touch fills me  with raging need, and it's all I can do to stay still as she explores my  body with her hands. I can't even breathe when she grazes her thumbs  over my nipples, because I'm picturing her doing that to my cock. Hell,  I'm picturing doing that to her nipples, which are tight and juicy  looking through the fabric of that bra, and so close that I want to  reach out and taste them for myself. But this is her moment, and so I  remain still.

"Delicious," she breathes, her hands moving over my collarbone.

"What?" My voice sounds gruff, even to my own ears, but damn. I can't think when she's doing all this touching.         

     



 

"I didn't expect you to look so delicious," Ivy tells me in a soft  voice. "I was expecting . . . I don't know. Lots of chest hair." Her  hand slides over one pectoral, then the next, and then down to the trail  of hair on my lower stomach. "But you have just enough. I like it." Her  hands seem to be moving all over me. "And I like all these muscles."

"Made 'em just for you."

She grins at that, but in my head, it's not a lie. In my head, everything I do is for her.

I lean in to kiss her, because I need the taste of her on my lips. But  she only moves away and saunters toward the bathroom, peeking over her  shoulder at me. "We've only got an hour, Boone. We need to hurry this  along."

"Only an hour? Damn. How long's it gonna take to shave a man?" I follow  her, because I'm fascinated by the sway of her hips and the way her ass  moves. And god almighty, those long legs. Those are gonna be the death  of me.

"I don't want to rush. I need to do it right, because I want to keep the beard and the hair. Just clean them up a little."

Well, damn. I want to keep the beard and the hair, too, but this is starting to sound iffy to me.

She enters the bathroom and picks through the stack of fluffy white  towels until she finds one the right size she wants, and then spreads it  on the counter. She grabs another and tosses it over my shoulders,  smiling and looking for all the world like she's thrilled to be givin'  me a haircut.

Women are so strange sometimes.

"Wait here," Ivy tells me. "I need to get my purse."

So I wait, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I don't see the big  deal. I'm a little shaggy . . . okay, a lot shaggy. I rake my hand  through my hair and I'm pretty sure it's been a year or so since I got  my last cut, and it's at least six inches long. It goes in every  direction, most days, which is why I like to wear a cap. I drag my  fingers through my beard, thoughtful. It's kinda scraggly on the sides  but fuller toward the chin and ends in a sloppy point. I picture the  suits that I have meetings with, and Bates. I don't look like them at  all. I do look just like a dirty roughneck.

Maybe Ivy's right. Maybe a change isn't so bad after all.

She returns a moment later with her little bag and then hops up on the  counter. "I think we'll start with the beard first, and then we'll clean  up some of your hair."

I don't care what we do, so long as it involves her touching me. I lean  in closer and she automatically spreads her legs as she sits on the  counter, allowing me between them. My cock aches hard at that, and I  press my body against the counter to try and stave off some of the  consuming lust I'm feeling. Up close, she's so pretty and perfect. Her  hair is still in one of those tight knots and I want to pull it loose  and see how long it is. But first things first . . . "You forgettin'  something?"