Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(9)

No, I think, wrinkling my nose. He wouldn’t call them “girlfriends.” He’d call them…gashes. Or something equally repulsive.

I really hate that chauvinistic prick.

“And we’re breathing,” I remind myself as my stomach tightens. “Again.”

Connor Hughes is bad for my blood pressure.

From downstairs Juanita yells, “We’re outta here! See you after school Monday!”

I yell back, “Good luck on your calculus test!”

“Suck a bag of dicks, hooker!”

A laugh, and then the front door slams.

“Love you too, kiddo,” I say, smiling.

I change into my running clothes and head over to Washington Square, the big park a few blocks away. I run my regular circuit on the paths that wind through the park, nodding at the old guys playing chess, dodging the street performers and families and couples walking their dogs. It’s a bright, beautiful spring afternoon, and the park is crowded with people picnicking around the main fountain, enjoying the weather.

This is why I run in the mornings. All these people make me twitchy.

An hour later, sweaty, my thighs aching, I head back to my house. I finish a book on the Chernobyl disaster, recategorize my CD collection by genre, and then decide to shower before I head out to find a place for dinner. Saturdays I usually head over to a little French wine bar in my neighborhood. I like to watch all the date-night couples gazing adoringly at each other over their overpriced glasses of Bordeaux and speculate about who’s cheating on who.

I almost always decide it’s everyone.

I take a long, hot shower, condition my hair, and shave all my lady parts that need shaving. Not that anyone’s going to touch said lady parts, but I like to keep my garden free of weeds, so to speak. In case I’m ever in an accident and I have to be examined at the hospital by some insanely hot doctor. Why he’d be examining me nude I don’t know, but in my fantasies, these kinds of odd scenarios regularly occur.

In reality, it’s been years since a man saw me naked.

It’s easier this way. Sex leads to feelings, and feelings lead to disappointment, so it logically follows that celibacy leads to no disappointments. Especially since I can get myself off in under sixty seconds. So it’s easy and efficient.

I dry off, wind my hair in the towel, and wrap it around my head, and head naked into my bedroom.

Where I let out an earsplitting scream.

Connor Hughes, reclining on my bed with his arms behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankle, grins at me. “That’s twice now I’ve made you scream, sweet cheeks, without even laying a finger on you.”

His gaze, searing hot, travels down the length of my naked body. His voice grows husky.

“Imagine what I could do with all ten.”





Four





Tabby




I leap backward into the bathroom and slam the door. “You f*cking *!” I shout.

In response, I hear a deep, satisfied chuckle.

So furious I’m shaking, I tear the towel off my head and wrap it around my body. “This is breaking and entering! I’m calling the police, you goddamn maniac!”

There’s a short pause, and then Connor’s voice, low and rich, comes through the door. It sounds like he’s standing right outside. “You’re not gonna call the police.”

Red-faced, I stalk back and forth in front of the vanity, deeply mortified that animal saw me naked. “Oh yes I am!”

“Tabby. Be reasonable. Do you really think it’s the best idea to invite law enforcement over to the home of the woman who once hacked into NASA’s mainframe and intercepted the source code of the International Space Station? NYPD might not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but they’ll take one look inside your office and know they’re not dealing with the average computer hobbyist.”

The bastard is right. My office is packed floor to ceiling with hard drives, servers, monitors, modems, wireless networking equipment, soldering equipment, lock picks, ham radios, cryptophones, and all the other tools of my trade. I’m careful to always flush data from every device after a job is done, but you never know if some rookie officer who wants to make a name for himself decides to invoke probable cause in the name of post-9/11 public safety.

I imagine Connor smirking on the other side of the door and feel a profound desire to bury a hatchet in his skull.

“You’re right. I won’t call the cops. But you just made yourself an enemy. Consider it open season on Metrix.”

Silence.

Now it’s my turn to smirk. Connor knows I can make good on my promise. If I wanted to, I could have his entire company’s network f*cked six ways to Sunday before he could even figure out how I snuck in.

“How ’bout a compromise?”

“Compromises require two parties to make concessions in order to get what they want. You, asswipe douche bag megaprick, have nothing I want.”

Connor chuckles. “I ever tell you I love that dirty mouth of yours?”

Oh my God. I’m seriously going to open the door and punch him in the face.

He taps on the door. “C’mon, Tabby. I promise I won’t surprise you again, okay? No more showing up unannounced when you’re coming out of the shower.” Pause. “Though I have to admit, seeing you naked has been like the highlight of my entire f*ckin’ life. Nipple piercings? Jesus Christ, that’s hot. And was that a tiger tattoo on your stomach?” He chuckles again and then growls, “Rawr.”