Yes, but also no. I’ve never worked this hard for a hookup. If all I want from Rachel is sex, I wouldn’t be working out of my Escalade. I wouldn’t rearrange my schedule, or insist on playing chauffer. I wouldn’t put off a vendor for a few hours.
It’s because you want more. Irritation prickles up my spine. No. That’s ridiculous. It’s because she’s got me working so hard for her attention. It’s the thrill of the chase.
A knock outside my window startles my attention.
“Hey!” Rachel waves and smiles.
I unlock the doors and pack everything into my briefcase as she slides into the passenger seat. “Good first day?” I force a casual ease into my tone, but my brows furrow at the ping of an incoming text. It’s Marilyn, and her craftsman guy wants me there by nine. The address is literally twenty minutes away. The exact opposite direction of where Rachel lives.
“The best.” Rachel snaps her seat belt into place. “Is everything okay?”
“Sorry.” I flash her a smile and put the phone down before pulling out of the lot. “Work stuff.”
“Puppies?” she says hopefully.
“A bench,” I grumble. And not the kind she’s picturing. I do the math and leave room for evening traffic. Fuck. There’s a good chance I won’t make it back in time. “Hey, do you mind if we make a stop? You don’t have anywhere to be tonight?”
“Oh, no.” She studies her own fingers, not meeting my gaze. “That’s fine.”
Is she lying? Maybe she has a date? Fuck. Why does that piss me off? “I’ll buy you dinner after. For the trouble.”
“Jude. You’re giving me free rides to work. You don’t owe me anything. I’m the trouble.”
She has no idea. “I want to. Besides, after you see where we’re going, you might change your mind.”
* * *
“She’s back here.” Al, the very eccentric craftsman we met moments ago lifts open the door to his garage. He walks across the space and yanks on the drop cloth covering the bench. It’s padded in leather and surrounded by over two dozen iron fasteners, made especially to tie someone down for spanking, and ultimately fucking. The deeply varnished wood with iron accents screams power and luxury. “A beauty, ain’t she?”
Rachel coughs and her eyebrows shoot up. I should have warned her, but I thought it’d be more entertaining to experience her surprise.It is.
“Gorgeous.” I’m not lying, either. The intricate detail of the woodwork mixed with the more modern design is stellar. I step closer and listen as Al walks me through the features—which, okay, I’m not intimately familiar with, but I have seen enough porn to get the gist. I get the feeling he’s mansplaining more for Rachel’s behalf, and it kind of irritates me. If anyone is going to teach her about this thing, I want it to be me. Preferably with both of us naked.
“So, what do you think?” he asks.
“I’m . . . gonna wait in the car.” Rachel hikes her thumb over her shoulder.
I produce the keys from my pocket and toss them to her with a wink. “Sure.” I try not to stare as she walks away, but Al doesn’t hold back his ogling. I get it. I do. She’s a beautiful woman. At the same time, I want to rip his head off. I clear my throat and pat the smooth surface of the apparatus. “So, how much?”
“Depends,” he hums.
A haggler. Okay. I don’t mind a good negotiation. “On?”
“She available?”
Oh, no. He can’t be serious. I follow his train of sight to my Escalade. “Pardon?” He better be referring to my vehicle.
“Marilyn said you procure for all kinds of clients.”
I don’t understand why people assume humans are for sale, or sex is a service. Furthermore, why I look like the guy who would broker either. I grate my teeth together and inhale to calm my speeding pulse. I am not here to pick a fight, or to judge, but I do need to make this purchase to complete Pierce’s room on time. “She’s unavailable.”
He takes in my expression—I’m surprised he doesn’t take a full step back—and nods. “Fair enough. Two grand.”
“One and a half, cash, and I take it off your hands tonight.”
He must not be too disappointed about Rachel, because his brows lift and he sticks out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Twenty minutes later the spanking bench is loaded in my vehicle and we’re on our way toward Rachel’s apartment. Or rather, would be if traffic wasn’t such a bitch. We inch down the freeway at a speed slower than walking. I pass the exit for my condo—my comfortable, relaxing haven. My leather couch calls to me, along with the giant big-screen television mounted on one wall, the view of the coastline to the right of it. I let loose a sigh. Sorry, condo. It’ll be a few hours.
