Velvet Kisses(29)

“Oh, professor!” She groans a little too loud, a little too enthusiastically. “I’ve been a very, very bad little girl!” Her lids blink in rapid succession, and, for a moment, I wonder if this is all a put-on, and she’s been yanking my chain the entire time.

I give a quick glance around as if expecting a hidden camera to catch the spectacle.

“Come on.” She ticks her head. “What else have you got?” Her finger flicks my earlobe, and instinctually I groan. “Give it to me all at once. I want to know exactly how naughty the Professor can be.”

“I bite,” I say it stern as shit. “All the time. In very delicate places.” There. If the idea of having the most tender part of her grazed doesn’t send her hurdling for the exit, nothing will.

“Wow, really?” Her brows flex in an awkward range that lets me know she’s not sure whether to be appalled or impressed. She shoots a nervous glance to Annie at the bar.

That a girl. I loosen my grip in the event she feels the need to test out the sprinting capabilities of her heels.

“Okay, then,” she whispers. “I guess it’s safe for me to divulge a few secrets of my own.” She nuzzles in tight until her face is just inches from my own. “I like to lick. A lot. In very delicate places.” Her teeth graze over her lip, and I pull back a notch before my body fills her in on how unreasonably excited this suddenly has me. “In fact”—she strokes my chest with her finger—“I plan to spend an entire night, tasting every last inch of you.” Her hand slips between my legs. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Nope,” my voice pitches as I swallow hard. “But, fair warning, I’m not as tasty as I look.” Is bad hygiene really the direction I want to head in? I have my limit, and I think we just hit it.

Marley tilts back and strums out a laugh. “Well, then, I’ll have to bathe you in chocolate first. I’m not afraid to add a little buffet to the mix. If you can eat it…you can”—she hikes up on the balls of her feet and takes a hard bite from my ear—“eat it.” She backs up, her eyes lit up like blue flames.

I don’t have any objection to eating any part of Marley Jackson. Certainly not the area she’s alluding to.

“This is really going to happen?” It’s more of a rhetorical question at this point.

“Nine short days, cowboy.” She taps my nose with her finger, that determined gaze of hers never leaving mine.

A thought comes to me. “I am a cowboy. Do you have plans for tomorrow afternoon?”

“I might.” She cocks her head to the side as if assessing my motives.

“Cancel. You’re coming horseback riding with me.”

Marley freezes in my arms. “I’m terrified of horses.”

Better than I thought.

“Then it’ll be that much more thrilling.” I rub her back trying to coax her into the idea.

The more things we do that terrify her, the less time she’ll want to spend with me.

Nine days. Plenty of time for her to take a mental U-turn.

After several rounds of Marley molding into me, the band starts up with its head banging rhythm once again, and, instead of implementing my monkey moves, I cry uncle. I say goodnight to Marley and Annie and note my briefcase is missing. Instead, neatly stowed under my jacket is a familiar looking Louis Vuitton briefcase, same shape and size as mine—but undeniably different. Monica is coming after me hard, so it doesn’t completely surprise me.

That contract blinks through my mind. It’s tucked in the middle among a pile of ad campaigns thick as a telephone book, and, for once, I’m relieved that I’m a hoarder at heart.



* * *



I stopped by Monica’s place before I came home last night. In the grand scheme of things, I think the briefcase swap was nothing more than a nightcap in disguise. I firmly stood on the porch and waited while she made the chaste exchange. She offered me a movie with pizza and wine, but I kindly declined. A part of me was afraid if I went in, I would have done something regrettable. This deal I’ve made with Marley has me in a dry spell for the next week and a half. I’m not a fan of dry spells. There’s a reason I have my dick checked out regularly. It’s been put to use so much, I’m afraid the damn thing is going to fall right off.

Around eleven, Marley shows up at the ranch with her hair swinging in a ponytail, painted on jeans and a pair of cowboy boots that look as if they were made for this place—for me to enjoy if you want to get specific. The sun lights her up from behind, and her hair glows with an otherworldly effect. She’s a sight to see, and, suddenly, I’m thanking God I’ve lived long enough to do just that.