His Plaything(33)
Finally we pulled up to the complex's front entrance. I grabbed my suitcase in one hand, saluted the driver with the other, and made it inside before the Navy car had even gotten back onto the main street. I took the stairs two at a time, too antsy to wait for the elevator. Opening the front door, I called, “I'm back!”
When no response came, I looked around. “Avery?”
Still nothing. But I heard a brief trickle of water, so I left the suitcase in the entryway and checked around the corner to the bathroom. Bingo.
Satiny red lips parted in concentration, Avery leaned close to the mirror to paint a swooping line along her eyelid, which shimmered bronze in the harsh fluorescent light. Her lashes were long curls of sooty black. A long silver bag full of brushes and jars and boxes sat by the sink. I had seen women putting on makeup a few times—usually when I'd stayed overnight at their places, which wasn't often—but it always looked like a nit-picking art project and I'd never watched closely before. Actually, I still didn't care what Avery was doing. I just wanted to ogle the woman herself.
She was a goddess: classy and fierce and smoking hot, all at the same time. Her wine-red dress clung to her curves and dipped in a low V to reveal the first swells of cleavage. The fabric was solid up to her breasts, but transparent and lacy where it covered her shoulders and neck; hinting at the creamy skin beneath was somehow more tantalizing than just revealing it outright. Her hair tumbled down her back in glossy waves. The straps of her sky-high heels caressed her slim ankles. Between the dress, which ended just above her knee, and those shoes, her shapely legs seemed to go on forever. I could already picture them wrapped around my back, her heels digging in, spurring me to thrust faster, deeper …
“Wow, babe, you look incredible.” Smirking, I came up behind her, reaching out to wrap my arm around her waist. I wanted to press up against her luscious ass and let her feel exactly how much I liked her outfit. “I hope you're okay with taking that off, because—”
Avery sidestepped, almost flattening herself into the towel rack to evade my grasp.
Whoops. Looks like I interrupted the arcane ritual. “What, did I make you smudge your makeup or something? Sorry.”
She made an irritable noise.
“I don't speak 'grunt,' babe. What's wrong?”
Without making eye contact, she finally replied, “I'm busy.” Her voice was flat.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I teased. “So what's the occasion? Did you want to go out tonight or something?” Usually I liked to be the one who made plans, and right now, I was worn out from traveling. But anything involving Avery still counted as a nice surprise.
“Nope.” She wet her tiny brush under the faucet, dabbed it into her compact, and started lining her other eyelid in black.
“Uh … okay.” My good mood was quickly fading in the face of uncertainty. “Then why are you all dolled up?” And why did I have to play Twenty Questions with her to find out? Why wouldn't she look at me? Maybe she had put on her sexy best just to welcome me home, but this strange tension in the air was really making me doubt that.
“Why is my outfit any of your business?” she retorted almost casually.
Okay, that's it. Now I knew it wasn't just my imagination; something was definitely off. But I had no idea what the problem was or where it had come from. I'd only been gone for two days. Just one night. What the hell could have changed? This couldn't be my fault—I wasn't even physically present, for Christ's sake. But she was acting like she hated my guts. Finally I gave up and asked, “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?” Even the smallest clue might help me figure out what was going on here.
“You tell me.” She took out a small bottle and sprayed some clear stuff on her brush, then wiped it on a color-streaked square of paper towel, leaving a messy black blotch. “Did you?”
“Huh?” Oh, come the fuck on. That wasn’t even an answer. “What are you talking about? Can I at least get a hint here?” My patience for this little game was running on fumes.
Without a word, Avery zipped her makeup bag shut and carried it into her room. I forced myself to wait in the hallway instead of following her. But when she came back out, she hustled right past, giving me a wide berth.
“Where the hell are you going?” I almost yelled. I hadn't meant to swear at her, but I could apologize later. After I figured out who this girl was and what she'd done with Avery.
She stopped at the front door, one hand poised on the knob and the other clutching her black beaded purse. For the first time that evening, she looked me straight in the eye. And it was a glare of pure loathing. “You really want to know? Fine. I've got a date with Logan.” She turned back and stepped outside. “So don't wait up.”