A loud thumping on the wall broke the spell Owen had over Caitlyn. How did he do that, make her feel as if they were the only two people on earth?
"I'll tell you all about it over a sandwich," he said. "Do you have clothes in the outer dressing room?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I don't think what's left of that negligée legally counts as clothing."
He cringed at the discarded pile of torn lace on the floor. "Sorry about that. I don't usually get so worked up that I rip off a woman's clothes."
She smiled. "I liked it. It made me feel irresistible."
"You are irresistible."
She was starting to believe him. Starting to remember that she was sexy and desirable and beautiful, even if her husband hadn't been smart enough to see it. "You'd make a fortune," she said with a smile.
"Huh?"
"As a male escort. I'd definitely pay for this feeling."
He snorted. "You don't have to. But it's good to know I have something to fall back on, you know, if I get myself kicked out of the band or something."
He stepped away and retrieved his black dress shirt from the floor. He helped her shrug into it and slowly buttoned it from its hem-which hit her midthigh-to the very top button just under her chin.
"That should keep the hawks at bay," he said and tapped her nose with his index finger.
"The hawks?"
"Men circling to make their kill now that I've chased away those man-hater vibes you were giving off."
"I still hate men," she said. "Well, one man. But not you. I like you."
"You're making this way too easy for me," Owen said.
She tilted her head at him coyly. "Should I be playing hard to get? A little late for that, don't you think?"
He shook his head. "I hate players probably as much as you hate your ex-husband."
She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you a player?"
He scowled. "Not intentionally. I'm looking for something and just don't know exactly what it is yet."
"Do you honestly think you're going to find what you're looking for in a sex club?"
"Maybe I have." He winked at her. "You're going to call me, right?"
"Depends," she said.
"On what?"
"Will you answer?"
He smiled. "Of course."
"Then I'll call you." Caitlyn found her shoes and put them on. He watched her with his devilish little grin firmly in place and only then reached for his own clothes.
"Then I'll give you my number," he said.
She watched him slip into his underwear and slacks. As he fastened his leather belt, naughty ideas began to filter through her thoughts. Ideas that involved belts. Would he let her try all those fantasies that she didn't want to admit she had? And did he really want her to call him or was he just getting her hopes up? She wasn't sure why she didn't trust him-he hadn't done anything to break her trust. In fact, he'd been absolutely wonderful. Too good to be true. She kept waiting for him to treat her badly, as if she deserved such treatment.
Damn, Charles sure had done a number on her. Maybe she should have given her heart time to mend before getting in this revenge fuck. What if this turned out to be something she wasn't ready for? She wasn't looking for a relationship, but she'd be an idiot not to see how far things could progress with Owen. He wasn't the kind of guy who came along every day.
"So you never answered me: what's the name of your band?" she asked as he settled a hand on her lower back and directed her out the door.
Heads turned as they passed through the main lounge. She was sure they were all looking at Owen. He had a gorgeous body and he happened to be shirtless.
"Sole Regret," he said close to her ear, as if it were a secret.
She caught the scent of his body and the spicy, slightly sweet fragrance of his cologne. When he leaned away again, she inhaled that same delectable scent from the fabric of his shirt at her shoulder. She wouldn't mind wearing his shirt for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, they had paused just outside the changing rooms and she was going to have to find her own clothes and relinquish the garment to him. There were, however, two problems with that. One: she would no longer be surrounded by his intoxicating scent. Two: the clothes she wore to the club were likely to send him packing. She didn't exactly have the sexiest wardrobe.
"I think I've heard of them," she said. She had never heard of a band called Sole Regret and figured he'd been playing up the star part of rock star.
He chuckled. "No you haven't. I can tell. If you had, you'd be impressed."
"I'm sorry, I was trying to be kind. What kind of music do you play?"
"Metal."
She winced. "I don't listen to that stuff."