Play With Me, Baby(3)
Although, Aspen’s situation turned out to be a complete misunderstanding, one Weston had rectified immediately when he came back to town and realized some bitch had tried to keep them apart. Going through the whole pregnancy with her had kept me wary of guys and their intentions when it came to sex. It wasn’t like I was going to have a one-night stand with a guy only to discover he was the love of my life and a covert agent for the CIA, like Aspen had. Then again, eyeing Rhys Campbell up, if I’d met him somewhere else, I could actually see myself agreeing to the one-night stand part. And wasn’t it just my freaking luck that I’d finally met a guy who got me wet, but I couldn’t do anything about it because he was the kind of guy who hit on one woman while he shopped for another in a place like Dirty Players.
“Rhys,” I said while looking him up and down. “Looking the way you do, I’m sure you don’t have a problem getting women to say yes.”
“You like the way I look?” he asked with a widening grin.
I ignored his question since it had been rhetorical, because he’d have to be clueless to not know exactly how women—and likely some men—reacted to him. “You’re in a sex toy shop, so unless you’re here to buy a Pocket Pussy or a blow-up doll”—my cheeks heated as I looked down at his empty hands—“then it seems pretty obvious to me that you already have someone in your life. And yet here you are, hitting on me.”
“I don’t—”
Whatever he had to say for himself wouldn’t change my mind, so I interrupted him. “Not that it matters. You’re not the first guy to hit on me while I’m at work, and you won’t be the last. But the answer’s always the same. No.”
He looked even bigger than a moment before, with his muscles bunched up and his grey eyes shooting fire. “What the fuck?”
“Hence the cameras. So when skeevy guys don’t want to take no for an answer, I’m protected.”
“You don’t need protection from me,” he growled, sending a glare at the camera. “But you can be damn sure you’re going to get it from any douchebag who thinks you’re fair game. Because you’re not. Not anymore.”
Like he’d just said a moment before… what the fuck?
Rhys
Rage was burning inside me at the thought of all the sick motherfuckers that hit on my woman while she was at work. I clenched my fists, suddenly having the urge to pummel the next person I saw who had a Y chromosome. The wary confusion on Macy’s face cut through the red haze and I sucked in a deep breath, calming myself.
This overwhelming deluge of emotions was throwing me for a loop. I worked—okay, owned—an investment firm and spent my days with numbers and statistics. I was known for being cool and collected, level-headed. I took the same approach with dating as I did with work, analyzing the possible outcomes. My cynical views had long ago convinced me to give up on that particular activity.
And yet, the moment I saw this feisty redhead, a myriad of feelings bubbled to the surface. The strongest and most foreign was a fierce possessiveness. I didn’t have any interest in picking apart the details of a relationship and future with Macy. She would be mine. End of story.
However, I’d put myself in a precarious position by approaching her at work. It hadn’t occurred to me that I would need an excuse for being in Dirty Players to convince her I wasn’t one of the sleazy guys she probably saw on a regular basis. I briefly considered the truth, that I’d more or less been stalking her. Then promptly dismissed the idea. It was too high of a risk that it would send her running.
The bell above the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of another customer. Macy glanced in their direction and her face lit up with a bright smile. Jealousy ripped through me, another shock to my system since I’d rarely felt it before. I wanted to be the only man who put smiles on her beautiful face. My head whipped angrily in the direction of the entrance, but when I saw who it was, I relaxed.
Weston Davis lifted his chin at her as he strolled through the door, his arm wrapped tightly around a pretty blonde woman who waved. His wife, Aspen, I assumed. I’d never met her, but I’d heard all about her during my meetings with Weston. They approached the counter and Macy ducked under it to hug Aspen.
Leaning casually against the shiny black worktop, I greeted Weston. “Davis. Of all the gin joints…”
His shrewd green gaze darted in my direction and narrowed before he raised an eyebrow in silent question. “Fancy meeting you here, Campbell. I was beginning to think your balls had shriveled up and died.”