Heroes Are My Weakness(79)

“Target practice first.”

This time he was all-business.


THEIR GLOOMY MOODS DIDN’T LIFT until dinner. The weekly supply boat had brought groceries for Moonraker Cottage, most of which Theo had ordered, and she’d stuck with what she did well—meatballs and homemade spaghetti sauce. It wasn’t haute cuisine, but his enjoyment was obvious. “Why didn’t you make this for me when you were helping Jaycie with dinner?”

“I wanted you to suffer,” she said.

“Mission accomplished.”

He put down his fork. “So how do you want this to play out? More Post-it notes on the bedroom door, or are we going to act like adults and do what we both want?”

Leave it to Theo to get to the point. “I told you. I’m not good at emotionally detaching from sex,” she said. “I know that makes me old-fashioned, but that’s who I am.”

“I have news for you, Annie. You’re not good at emotionally detaching from anything.”

“Yes, well, there’s that.”

He lifted his glass to her. “Have I remembered to say thank you?”

“For me being a sex goddess?”

“That, too. But . . .” He set the glass down and abruptly pushed back from the table. “Hell, I don’t know. My writing’s gone to hell, I have no idea how to protect you from whatever crap is happening here, and pretty soon somebody’s going to ask me to do a f*cking heart transplant. But . . . The thing is, I’m not exactly unhappy.”

“Gee. With that kind of progress, you’ll have your own special on Comedy Central in no time.”

“Sensitively put.” He almost smiled. “Now how about it? Are you done with Post-it notes or not?”

Was she? She carried her dirty plate into the kitchen and thought about what was right for her. Not him. Only her. She moved to the kitchen doorway. “Okay, this is what I want. Sex and lots of it.”

“My world just got so much brighter.”

“But impersonal. No cuddling afterward. And absolutely no sleeping in the same bed.” She came back toward the table. “As soon as you’ve satisfied me, we’re done. No cozy little chats. Sleep in your own bed.”

He tilted his chair back. “Harsh, but I can live with that.”

“Totally impersonal,” she insisted. “Like you’re a male prostitute.”

He lifted one of those imperious eyebrows. “Don’t you think that’s a little . . . degrading?”

“Not my problem.” The fantasy was delicious . . . and perfect for the message she wanted to deliver. “You’re a male prostitute working in a brothel designed for an exclusive female clientele.” She wandered toward the bookcases, letting the fantasy unfold, not caring how he felt about it or whether he was judging her. “The place is sparse, but luxurious. All white walls and black leather chairs. Not the overstuffed ones,” she added. “Those sleek ones with chrome frames.”

“Something tells me you’ve thought about this before,” he said drily.

“All you men are sitting around in various stages of dishabille. And no one is saying a word.”

“Dishabille?”

“Look it up.”

“I know what it means. I’m just—”

“Each man is more beautiful than the last,” she said. “I walk around the room.” She walked around the room. “Everything is absolutely silent. I’m taking my time.” She stopped. “There’s a round platform in the exact center of the room. The platform is set six inches off the floor . . .”

Again his eyebrow went up. “You really have thought this through.”

She ignored him. “That’s where the men go. To be inspected.”

All four legs of his chair hit the ground. “Okay, I’m getting seriously turned on.”

“I choose the three I’m most aroused by. One by one, I gesture them to the platform.”

“That would be the round platform set exactly six inches from the floor?”

“I carefully inspect them. I run my hands over their bodies, check them for flaws—”

“Look at their teeth?”

“—assess them for strength and, most important, endurance.”

“Ah.”

“But I already know who I want. And I bring him up last.”

“I’ve never been so turned on and so horrified at the same time.”

“This man is magnificent. Exactly what I need. Thick, dark hair; a chiseled profile; hard muscles. Best of all, I can see by the intelligence in his eyes that he’s more than a stud. I select him.”

He rose from his chair and gave her a mocking nod. “Thank you.”

“No, not you.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Unfortunately, the man I’ve chosen is already booked for the night. Then I take you.” She gave him a triumphant smile. “You’re not as expensive, and who can resist a bargain?”

“Apparently, not you.” The slight hoarseness in his voice ruined his attempt at humor.

She felt like Scheherazade. She lowered her pitch, taking it to the border of sultry but not quite crossing over. “I’m wearing a filmy piece of black lace. And all I have on underneath is a tiny pair of scarlet panties.”