She finished with his transaction and he hurried from the store. My grey eyes met her vibrant green ones and they were full of speculation and a little reproach. I stepped to the counter, and that was the moment I realized I was empty handed. Oops.
“Can I help you find something?” My cock stood at full attention as her sweet voice washed over me. There was a hint of sass that had a grin splitting my face. I had a feeling my angel had plenty of redheaded spitfire in her. All that fire was going to be amazing in bed.
“There are many ways in which I could use your help, angel,” I drawled. “You can start by telling me your name.”
Macy
Whoa. The guy standing in front of me was lethally hot, even when he was giving the evil eye to the man in front of him in line. It should have taken away from his pull. If anything, it had the opposite effect—somehow making him even more attractive. He was big, more than a foot taller than me at about six foot three. He was dressed in a suit, but it did nothing to hide how wide his shoulders were and all his muscles. His light-blond hair looked like it was past due for a cut, but it didn’t detract from how attractive he was. Add in piercing grey eyes and, even though I was irritated that he was being rude to another customer, my panties were wet.
Me, with wet panties. At work. In a sex toy shop. It had never happened before. This job was just temporary until one of the manuscripts I’d submitted was accepted and published. It wasn’t like I worked here for the atmosphere and cheap thrills. The fact that I was so turned on was embarrassing. And the man who’d caused it was staring at me like he was expecting something. Crap!
“What?” I mumbled, feeling tongue-tied.
“Tell me your name, sweetheart.”
“Macy.” The answer slipped out without me intending to answer. “Holland. Macy Holland.” Those damn grey eyes were impossible to resist.
“Macy,” he repeated in a silky purr that sent shivers up my spine.
My panties went from wet to drenched. I needed to get this guy out of here, and fast. I was only five minutes into an eight hour shift, and the last thing I needed was to be aroused while at work. It wasn’t unusual to get some creeps in the store, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them would think it was because of them. The other thing I didn’t need was to be, in the least bit, attracted to a guy who came into Dirty Players to shop. Not that I should judge because I worked here—but yeah, I was judging the hot guy standing in front of me anyway. Well, that, and I felt like I’d been stabbed in the gut at the thought of why he was buying sex toys or lingerie… and for whom.
Straightening my spine, I managed to find the willpower to speak in what sounded like a professional tone of voice. “Was there something I could help you with?”
“Oh, sweetheart, there’s plenty you’re going to help me with.”
“Umm, no.” My eyes darted around the store, finding no other customers anywhere. Which was both bad—because it meant I was alone with Mr. Hottie—and good—because it meant I could speak my mind without worrying about scaring anyone else off. “You’re hot, I’ll give you that, but I don’t date customers. I’d have to be insanely stupid to go out with a guy I met in a sex shop. I might work in one, but I’m not dumb.”
“Never said you were, Macy. Wasn’t even thinking it,” he replied, taking a step closer to me with a determined gleam in his eyes.
I just barely stopped myself from moving backwards and pointed up above us. “The cameras aren’t for show. Trust me when I say security in here is tight.”
“You’re scared of me,” he whispered, sounding pained by the idea.
“Yeah, like I said, I’m not dumb.”
“So fucking sassy.” With the way he said it and was looking at me, it was clear he didn’t mean it as an insult.
“Look—” Crap, I didn’t know his name, and calling him Mr. Hottie out loud seemed like a really bad idea.
“Rhys.” Those grey eyes twinkled with humor as he filled in the blank without me having to tell him what I was thinking. “Rhys Campbell.”
Double crap, even his name was hot. If only I hadn’t met him at work, I would have flirted my ass off with him. Or I would have at least tried since I wasn’t exactly the best flirter in the world. Not even the second best. Or twenty-millionth. It was sad really, thinking about how inexperienced I was with flirting, considering I was a relatively attractive twenty-three-year-old woman. But a scary experience with a guy at a party when I was nineteen, combined with my best friend getting knocked up during a weekend fling with a guy—one she met because I’d talked her into going to a nightclub with me because I was afraid to go alone—who fell off the face of the planet, was enough to put me off guys for a while.