For 100 Days(31)

I’m lost to it . . . so much so, I hardly register the rattling of the doorknob across the room.

When the sound finally breaks through my daze—when the abrupt, powerful rapping of a fist on the locked door carries over the racket of the restaurant and music on the other side—I jerk to attention.

Joel’s voice rumbles from outside. “Someone in there? Who locked this goddamn door?”

Shit! I scramble to pull myself together as he jiggles the doorknob again. Clothing straightened, jeans zipped, I adjust my black top and hastily smooth my ponytail back to order.

“Just a second,” I call to him as I step around my cold cup of soup on the floor and reach to retrieve my phone from where it fell. “I’ll be right out.”

A glance at Nick’s texts sends renewed heat into my cheeks. Especially the ones I missed while I was busy getting off. I hurriedly tap out a reply. Sorry, gotta go now.

You ok?

I giggle, beaming and out of breath. Great now, thx. Was amazing.

His answer hits my phone not even a second later. Gonna make you come so hard next time I see you. Be ready. This was only the beginning.

The dark promise spirals through me, arrowing right for my still-molten, quivering core. As if my orgasm a moment ago wasn’t enough, every nerve ending in my body lights up all over again. I’m ready for whatever Nick has in mind. More than ready.

Damn. I’m in trouble with this man.

I can’t contain my grin as I turn off the phone’s display and quickly stow it in my employee locker. I head over to the coat room door and open it to find Joel’s scowling, corpulent face glaring at me.

“What the hell are you doing in here? And why was this door locked?”

“Sorry,” I say, sounding more than a little breathless. I clear my throat in an attempt to mask the small giggle that’s bubbling up inside me. “I was, um . . . on a private call.”

His beady eyes narrow on me. “Make calls on your own time. Your break ended five minutes ago.”

“It did?” My tone sounds glib, but I’m genuinely surprised. And probably less contrite than I should be. “I guess I lost track of the time.”

He grunts, disapproval in the flat line of his mouth. “That’s all you got to say?”

I shrug. “Pretty much.”

His frown deepens. “Well, it just cost you an hour’s pay. Now, get back on the clock and get to work. This isn’t your private lounge back here.”

He pivots and stalks away, full of self-importance. I don’t care about his overbearing attitude. Not tonight. I don’t even care that I’ve just lost an hour’s wages.

Because what happened in here with Nick?

Totally worth it.

Grinning shamelessly, my body still humming with pleasure, I dump my half-eaten cup of soup in the kitchen then head for the restroom to freshen up before I report back to the bar to finish my shift.





Chapter 14



The rest of the week passes without any further communication with Nick. I have to admit I’m disappointed I haven’t heard from him. After the way we’d left things, I had thought for sure he’d call or text again. And, yes, I’ve been looking forward to another round of long-distance sex with the man—craving it like the dirty girl I’m evidently becoming now. I want him, whether that’s over the phone lines or in person.

Even worse, I miss him. Which is crazy, considering we hardly know each other. Not in real life, anyway.

I may be able to conjure his cerulean blue eyes and handsome, chiseled face without even trying, or reconstruct every strong, muscled inch of his incredible body in my mind, but outside of his bedroom—or the locked back room of my workplace—what I know about Nick Baine is very little.

I could go nosing around on the Internet to satisfy some of my curiosity, but that’s a line I refuse to cross. God knows, I wouldn’t want anyone digging through my life, even if most of the records hadn’t been sealed by the court years ago. I’d never be able to forgive a violation of my privacy, and I won’t do it to Nick either.

I’ve already surmised the obvious basics about him, anyway. Intelligent. Successful. Wealthy. Far out of my league in more ways than I care to count. Besides, even if I was tempted to creep into his life online, the things I want to know aren’t going to be listed on his Wikipedia page or in any article that might turn up on a search engine.

I want to know why a rich, devastatingly gorgeous man—who must be one of the city’s most sought-after, eligible bachelors—chooses to live alone in his tower penthouse at the top of the world. I want to know why he wants me, of all the women he could have drooling at the chance to be with him. I want to know how he got the terrible scars on his right hand and arm.