How To Pleasure A Playboy(14)

"Lady, I don't know what you-"

"I'll pay," she said quickly, hoping he wasn't going to hang up on her.  "And my building's just around the corner, so it won't be too far out of  your way. Do you know the Baxter?"

"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "This isn't the writer, is it? The one having the bet with that rich fella?"

"Lacey." She relaxed a little. At least now she'd have less explaining to do. "Hi."

"My wife's a fan. Hang on a sec, I want to tell her you're on the line."  There was some muffled talking she couldn't quite make out, and when he  spoke into the phone again, he was chuckling. "Live rats, huh? My  wife's in fits. You going to put that on Twitter?"

She winced. "Maybe after it works, and Bronson loses the bet."

"Just one problem. We don't deal with live rats. Well, they're live  until we get to them. But then we're only collecting bodies."

"Oh." She chewed on her lip. What now?

"Listen, I'll see what I can do." He chuckled again. "We do have a rat  job scheduled, and come to think of it, I might have a trap somewhere.  No promises, but seeing as it's you, I'll try and get you some. I'll  look for the ugly ones."

"Great. Thank you."

"We've got a cockroach job scheduled for tomorrow too. Want me to grab a  few dozen of the crawlers while I'm there? They're the German ones, so  they'll breed like …  well, like cockroaches. You'll be knee deep in no  time."

"That sounds perfect."

"You want me to bring them over tomorrow night?"

"I'm apartment 304. If I leave the door unlocked, would you sneak in and  let them go in the hall? I'll distract Bronson so he won't hear you do  it."

"My wife wants an autograph."

"Anything she wants," promised Lacey. "How about a T-shirt too?"

"Even better. And you'd better keep my number on hand, for when this is  over and you need your rat and cockroach problems taken care of."

"I will." She hung up and gave her reflection a satisfied nod. Now that  was sorted, it was time to go check on what Bronson was doing. Last time  she'd left him alone, he'd managed to transform her apartment. If she  stayed in the bathroom too long, he might install a jacuzzi.

She found him on a camping bed he'd squeezed into the living room by  moving her couch to one side. He was propped on a pillow, working on a  laptop. His torso was bare, and after an initial sympathetic wince at  his bruises, she couldn't stop her eyes from lingering over the stylised  sun tattoo on his chest, pausing to admire his biceps, then flicking  down to the hint of rippled abs peeking from above the bedclothes. With  his skin glowing in the firelight, he looked ready for a photo shoot. If  she posted a picture online, camping bed sales would probably soar.         

     



 

In spite of her visit to the electrician downstairs, their power hadn't  gone off yet. When it did, Bronson would still have the fire's warmth,  unless she could block the chimney somehow. Go out on the roof and drop  something over it, perhaps? Too dark now, but definitely something to  consider for tomorrow.

"Goodnight," she said sweetly, her mind searching for more ways to make the next few days pure hell for him.

He glanced up with a smile that shot straight into her body and made her insides dissolve into a quivering bundle of nerves.

"Sleep well."

Yeah, right. Like she'd be able to fall asleep now that her lady parts  had jolted to attention and were singing the Hallelujah Chorus from  Handel's Messiah.

The most intelligible response she could manage was a grunt as she  escaped to the safety of her room. Maybe she'd better give herself some  sexual relief tonight. Ease the pressure, so to speak. Otherwise, given a  few more sips of that delicious Baileys, she might start considering  the ways he could help with her sexual frustration problem. And that  would be the last thing she needed.





Eleven





Bronson watched Lacey disappear into her bedroom, admiring the curve of  her ass and the way it swayed. Admiring everything, in fact, from the  tips of her irrepressibly curly hair to the soles of her lace-up Doc  Martin boots.

She was nothing like Michaela had been, with her willowy figure and  slicked-on pout. Nothing like any of the women he'd dated, back when he  was used to having a different woman in his bed most nights. His  memories of what had happened with Michaela were so painful, he might  never be tempted by a woman like her again. But he was definitely  tempted by Lacey.

When Lacey had sung Original Sin, her voice had been so unexpectedly  lovely he could have listened to her all night, in spite of the fact she  kept getting the words wrong. Which about summed the whole situation  up. Yup, there was definitely a metaphor in there that described this  whole crazy situation. Something about finding an unexpected harmony  while they were singing totally different lyrics.

And somewhere there had to be an explanation for why he hadn't been able  to stop staring at the pink lushness of Lacey's lips. And why he'd been  so determined to keep making her smile, just to see the tiny dent that  appeared in one of her cheeks. A dent so small that he hadn't spotted it  until he'd really studied her smile, and which he now couldn't seem to  stop thinking about.

If the whole sorry mess with Michaela had never happened, he'd have  kissed Lacey by now. Hell, he'd got turned on just watching her walk  into her bedroom.

A patter of rain sounded against the window, fat raindrops streaking the  glass. It would be freezing out there, but in here it was warm. The  fire was starting to die down, but small flames still danced.

He'd got his laptop out to do some work, but he couldn't concentrate.  Instead, Bronson looked up Lacey's blog. He'd checked it out before,  glancing over the scathing articles that detailed his selfishness in  throwing all the tenants out of the Baxter. But now there was something  new on the site. On the sidebar was an ad that showed a T-shirt. When he  clicked on it, an order page came up for a whole range of shirts, mugs,  and caps.

Bronson grinned at the designs. Perfect. He ordered a T-shirt in his  size and paid extra for express delivery. With luck it might arrive  tomorrow.

Then he opened his email and typed a message to Carla.

Carla, I know this is a tricky request, but I want you to track down  some books Lacey sold. They would have been non fiction, probably  political, and valuable. Maybe first editions.

He paused to look over at the empty shelf, estimating how many books  there must have been. The sensible thing would be to ask Lacey about  them, to get some details that would make the task easier. But she might  think he was trying to bribe her with them, or that he had an ulterior  motive.

You're probably looking for about a dozen books, sold after she started  the blog, but before it took off. Try calling around the second hand  dealers in the area first. If you need help, try and get hold of the  private investigator who's looking for Christof and see if he's got some  extra time to take over the search, or if he can recommend someone.

He signed off, then put his laptop away and turned off the light. The  rain was coming down harder, drumming against the window. He'd always  liked that sound, especially at night. It could make even a camping bed  in a run-down living room feel cosy.

It'd feel one hell of a lot better if he was in bed with Lacey.

Closing his eyes, he let that thought run through his head, taking his  imagination with it. He moved one hand down to his insistent cock,  working it up and down while he thought about her naked body rubbing  against his. About those pink lips gasping his name, and that little  dent in her cheek-         

     



 

Cold water splashed on his head.

Bronson struggled up, almost tipping the camping bed over in the  process. Another drop hit his pillow, narrowly missing him. The dying  fire didn't give enough light to see where it was coming from, but it  was pretty obvious the roof was leaking.

Cursing, Bronson got up, pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, and strode into  the kitchen to find something to catch the drops. Now he could hear more  drip-drip-dripping sounds that were getting louder. He found some bowls  in the kitchen cupboards and walked around the house putting them under  the worst of the leaks. The place was a sieve. The ceiling had to be  rotten and soggy. Lacey was lucky it hadn't collapsed on her head.

The bedroom door opened. Lacey had switched the light on and was  silhouetted in the doorway. In just a tank top and pyjama pants, the  sheer beauty of her body made him instantly hard again. His hand-relief  session had been interrupted at just the wrong moment, and his balls  were so heavy they ached.

"This place is dangerous." Frustration made his voice harsh. "Wanting to stay is the definition of insanity."

"Then leave."

He dragged in a breath, forcing his attention away from the drape of  thin cotton over her obviously bra-less breasts. "Do you have a  flashlight? I want to take a look at the roof."