I blinked, pulling back. “Aren’t you even curious about it?” I asked.
“About your flair for the ridiculous? Not particularly. Not today. Maybe hit me up tomorrow.”
“Not that. I mean, aren’t you curious about sex? Kissing. Touching. Getting off. Any of it. I’ve got a bit of everything,” I paused. “Well, a lot of everything actually.”
Her face tightened up like I’d offended her, which I supposed I must’ve. “Just stop,” she muttered, turning her face away.
Her body was telling me a different story. Breath panting in and out. Hands on my wrists, keeping them at her waist instead of pushing them away.
“Hear me out,” I began in my most cajoling, seductive voice.
“No. Someone’s got to tell you no, Turner, and much to my sadness, that task seems to have fallen to me, so here it goes: It’s an unfortunate part of life, sometimes, not getting your way. But the answer is no. I’m not going to sleep with you just to satisfy your curiosity.”
That took me aback. “I never said anything about me being curious. I’m ravenous. I was asking you if you were curious.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Not even a little? Never mind. My point is, I wasn’t saying I wanted to do it for curiosity. I want to do it because I’m earnestly attracted to every part of you, and it’s become a very . . . substantial effort for me to keep my hands to myself, and I’ve decided that I’d prefer not to. Emphatically so.”
“Well tough, boss. You’ll get over it.”
I took my hands away from her body and for a moment she held them before letting go. But it was just for a moment.
“Whatever you want,” I said softly.
I said it like I hated it.
I said it like I meant it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS SUNDAY and Ro was gone. I was bored and I missed her. It was pathetic, but I didn’t beat myself up about that.
I found other ways to keep busy. No, not writing. I needed my assistant around to keep me on task for that.
No, this was pure, ornery mischief.
I’d been working on it for a while, so it wasn’t solely impulsive. Ill-advised? Check. Terrifically messed up? Check. Out of line? Check.
All those things, but not impulsive.
I’d ordered Ro an entire new and normal wardrobe. Head to toe, everything from hats to stockings. I’d even ordered a collection of floral church dresses, modest but pretty instead of bulky and ugly.
I’d plotted it out better than I did most of my novels. I’d thought of everything, from business casual to her Sunday lazies.
The lingerie was completely out of line, especially the French maid teddy, but I’d never been known for my restraint, and that part of the prank had been an impulse I hadn’t even wanted to curb.
I gathered every hideous piece of clothing she owned and piled them up out back next to my fire pit.
I could have, probably should have, hired help for this, to get it done faster at the very least, so she didn’t catch me at it, but it was just too much fun. I relished every bit of the task, from shamelessly going through her things to carefully hanging up and folding every new piece of clothing.
It was a huge closet to fill, but I took a good stab at it.
The cherry on top was the aforementioned French teddy hanging conspicuously on the outside of the closed closet door. It was the first thing she’d see when she walked in her bedroom. It was perverse and inappropriate, and my favorite part.
She came home when I was still tossing her clothes into the fire pit, though I was close to done.
“What’s this?” she asked, no expression on her face.
“A bonfire of your lack of vanity,” I said smugly. I’d been waiting to get that line out for a while. Weeks.
She didn’t react. In fact, she didn’t seem to appreciate my clever quip at all.
It was a bit deflating. Her reaction was the sole reason I’d done any of it.
“Get it,” I tried again, “because your clothes are so ugly, you have no vanity, and this is a fire.”
She just stared at me. “It’s hard to laugh at your willful destruction of my property,” she said quietly, “all my worldly goods.” She pointed at the atrocious polka dot blouse in my hand. “Mrs. Anderson gave that to me right before she died.”
I made a face, I couldn’t help it. “You’re not convincing me to keep these awful things by telling me they belong to dead people.” I punctuated my point by tossing the blouse in the fire.
Finally I got a reaction out of her.
She shot me a bland look that promised retribution. “Sentimental value not your thing, huh?” she asked with spectacular detachment.
“Not at all. If you want to keep any of the junk that’s left, you’re going to have to wrestle me for it.”
She did her little smile that wasn’t a smile, her eyes flashing.
Now this, this was what I’d wanted. “Something to say?” I asked with an unrepentant smile. “Bring it on, cupcake.”
She just shook her head. “Burn it all. It’s fine. I’m actually not that sentimental either.”
I puzzled over that for a bit, knowing it was a clue about what she was planning as retribution.
I frankly couldn’t wait to see what she came up with.
I had an open bottle of wine, a terrific Russian River pinot noir, beside me. I took a swig of it, grimaced, and offered it to her.
She shook her head, biting her lips to keep from smiling.
“Understandable,” I said agreeably. “I hate wine, too.”
“You’ve already drunk half the bottle.”
“I’m also not a quitter.”
There it was, finally, the laugh I’d been waiting for.
It warmed me, head to toe.
Her revenge was effortless, at least the first part of it was.
She just started wearing the clothes I’d bought her. They actually fit her, showed her knockout body off.
Fitted little skirts with slits. Nicely tailored button up shirts. Fitted, ass hugging slacks. Conservative mules and pumps with sensible heels. I’d had to buy some of her shoes from the kids’ department; her feet were so itty bitty. She stopped wearing hideous pantyhose because she simply didn’t have any and hadn’t bothered to get more after I’d torched all of hers. I got to see pieces of her bare flesh constantly.
Sometimes she even wore the skintight bodysuits I’d added with little hope that I’d see them in action. They went perfectly with a pencil skirt and when she paired the two together, I was practically useless for anything except the one thing I was not doing lately.
She was turning business casual into a personal kink for me.
Every time she walked in a room, I was reminded of the fact that I’d thought I’d hired her because she wasn’t a dime and here she was, the hottest creature I’d ever seen in my life.
It was slightly perturbing and extremely distracting.
I pretended to be focused.
I was particularly and ridiculously distracted by the fact that her clothes were tight enough now that I could see when her nipples were popping.
I set the thermostat a few degrees lower to keep them that way constantly.
She often mistook my preoccupation with her as my usual procrastination.