met?”
“Maybe.”
He winked. “Well, baby. I guess now you know why.”
Chapter Five
A ll he’d wanted was chocolate pudding.
Standing in the shower, Nick let the hot water pound onto his skin. He must be really losing it to have gotten to the point where that crazy, frazzled hippie boss of his seemed irresistible. Not that she was. Irresistible. No female was. And he could have stopped at any minute. At any second of that encounter, he could have walked away.
Ah, but you didn’t, did you?
No, he didn’t. And he could still taste her. Not chocolate or sugar or butter. Her. Her skin, her essence. Her own sugary taste on his tongue.
It was killing him.
Well, his dick thought it was. Based on the painful way it was throbbing, he’d have thought someone had just slammed him between the legs with a sledgehammer. He turned under the showerhead, feeling the spray of water on his back.
It wasn’t doing any good. He couldn’t wash away the memory of her laid out before him like some sort of delicious, erotic buffet.
Out of all the women in all the world, he had to go and slather chocolate on this one. Certainly there were better options, even in this town in the middle of nowhere. Obviously, he needed to get laid. Hell, back in L.A., he’d had a buffet of lovely ladies to choose from every night. He never had to settle for anything less than top-of-the-line. So why was he here, standing under now-tepid water, waiting for his raging hard-on to subside?
More important, why did his cock jump at the thought of Phoebe Mayle? Why did his blood run hot when he licked his lips to savor her, still. Impossible. He shouldn’t be able to still taste her.
But he did.
And he saw her. When he closed his eyes, he could clearly picture the way her pupils had gone dark and wide with desire for him. He could see the battle within herself, fighting her need to touch him. She hated him. Sometimes he could feel the emotion radiating off her like some invisible force that seeped into him. He barked a laugh, the sound echoing off the tiled shower walls.
She hated him . Well, she could join the fucking club. She could become an official member of the Nick Avalon Is a Bloody Prick Society.
And the thing was, he didn’t even mind. In fact, he got off on it. Life was better when you knew exactly where you stood. And if you didn’t give a shit what people thought, you didn’t have to put up with any stupid pretenses like politeness.
Fuck that. Politeness was the most acceptable hypocrisy. Yeah, he liked that. Because Nick may be an asshole, a prick, and a son of a bitch. But he certainly wasn’t a hypocrite.
And if people didn’t like it, they could sod off.
It wasn’t his fault that Phoebe couldn’t deny her desire for him. And it wasn’t his fault she hated him. He was who he was. What people decided to do with it was their problem.
Right now, Nick had his own issues. He had to get the fuck back to Los Angeles. And he had to deal with this raging erection pounding like the beat of an electronic dance song.
He wasn’t about to jack off. Nick hadn’t needed to take care of himself in years, and he wasn’t about to start now. He’d find some woman to take care of him. He always did.
And it wouldn’t be his boss. There had to be some hick bar where he could find a willing partner. A woman who wanted nothing more from him than a wall-banger and a good-bye. Because that was about all Nick Avalon was good for.
But…damn it. Just the thought of touching another woman was more effective than that sledgehammer. The thought of another woman, some person who didn’t have Phoebe’s quirky smile, her honey smell, the taste of her skin…
Apparently, his dick didn’t like that idea. The pounding arousal had begun to ebb. At the thought of another woman.
“That can’t be good,” he muttered to himself, the sound echoing off the moist shower walls. And of course, then he started thinking about her again and his desire
“Maybe.”
He winked. “Well, baby. I guess now you know why.”
Chapter Five
A ll he’d wanted was chocolate pudding.
Standing in the shower, Nick let the hot water pound onto his skin. He must be really losing it to have gotten to the point where that crazy, frazzled hippie boss of his seemed irresistible. Not that she was. Irresistible. No female was. And he could have stopped at any minute. At any second of that encounter, he could have walked away.
Ah, but you didn’t, did you?
No, he didn’t. And he could still taste her. Not chocolate or sugar or butter. Her. Her skin, her essence. Her own sugary taste on his tongue.
It was killing him.
Well, his dick thought it was. Based on the painful way it was throbbing, he’d have thought someone had just slammed him between the legs with a sledgehammer. He turned under the showerhead, feeling the spray of water on his back.
It wasn’t doing any good. He couldn’t wash away the memory of her laid out before him like some sort of delicious, erotic buffet.
Out of all the women in all the world, he had to go and slather chocolate on this one. Certainly there were better options, even in this town in the middle of nowhere. Obviously, he needed to get laid. Hell, back in L.A., he’d had a buffet of lovely ladies to choose from every night. He never had to settle for anything less than top-of-the-line. So why was he here, standing under now-tepid water, waiting for his raging hard-on to subside?
More important, why did his cock jump at the thought of Phoebe Mayle? Why did his blood run hot when he licked his lips to savor her, still. Impossible. He shouldn’t be able to still taste her.
But he did.
And he saw her. When he closed his eyes, he could clearly picture the way her pupils had gone dark and wide with desire for him. He could see the battle within herself, fighting her need to touch him. She hated him. Sometimes he could feel the emotion radiating off her like some invisible force that seeped into him. He barked a laugh, the sound echoing off the tiled shower walls.
She hated him . Well, she could join the fucking club. She could become an official member of the Nick Avalon Is a Bloody Prick Society.
And the thing was, he didn’t even mind. In fact, he got off on it. Life was better when you knew exactly where you stood. And if you didn’t give a shit what people thought, you didn’t have to put up with any stupid pretenses like politeness.
Fuck that. Politeness was the most acceptable hypocrisy. Yeah, he liked that. Because Nick may be an asshole, a prick, and a son of a bitch. But he certainly wasn’t a hypocrite.
And if people didn’t like it, they could sod off.
It wasn’t his fault that Phoebe couldn’t deny her desire for him. And it wasn’t his fault she hated him. He was who he was. What people decided to do with it was their problem.
Right now, Nick had his own issues. He had to get the fuck back to Los Angeles. And he had to deal with this raging erection pounding like the beat of an electronic dance song.
He wasn’t about to jack off. Nick hadn’t needed to take care of himself in years, and he wasn’t about to start now. He’d find some woman to take care of him. He always did.
And it wouldn’t be his boss. There had to be some hick bar where he could find a willing partner. A woman who wanted nothing more from him than a wall-banger and a good-bye. Because that was about all Nick Avalon was good for.
But…damn it. Just the thought of touching another woman was more effective than that sledgehammer. The thought of another woman, some person who didn’t have Phoebe’s quirky smile, her honey smell, the taste of her skin…
Apparently, his dick didn’t like that idea. The pounding arousal had begun to ebb. At the thought of another woman.
“That can’t be good,” he muttered to himself, the sound echoing off the moist shower walls. And of course, then he started thinking about her again and his desire
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