Indigo Nights (Nights #3)(33)

She didn’t respond right away. I tried to distract myself, shrugging off my jacket and rolling up my sleeves, ready to deal with my inbox. Marie always flagged the emails I had to read, so if they weren’t marked red they got ignored.

I kept checking my phone but nothing. No response.

“Marie,” I called out.

She stuck her head into my office.

“Has he gone?” I asked.

“Yeah. A little shaken, but I got his pass and his phone and got Don to take him home.”

Marie was great at cleaning up after me.

“Thanks. Well done. Can you arrange for me to have a tour of WCIL? Tomorrow if possible. I think it would be good to show our face and reconfirm our commitment to them. For the short term, in any event.”

“No problem. Will Raf go?”

“You can ask him, but I doubt it.” My cell vibrated on the desk. “I have to get this.”

I waited until Marie shut the door before I tapped the code into my phone. I wanted to savor Beth’s reply.

Beth: Thanks, but I’ll stay at The Langham.

My stomach dropped. It wasn’t the response I’d been hoping for.

I slung my phone on my desk and went back to my email.



Marie had arranged for me to meet with the WCIL TV people at 8AM the next morning. I’d need to replace Ted quickly, and I didn’t know the team there as well as I should, so didn’t know if there were any internal candidates for the role. Raf had agreed I should do a bit of digging. I often found people on the ground knew what was needed to fix the problems in the company. Tomorrow was about finding answers, getting to the root of the problem.

I toed off my shoes and headed toward the refrigerator. My housekeeper always left me dinner if she knew I was going to be home.

I pulled out a beer from the top shelf. Did Beth mind people who drank around her? I put the bottle back and pulled out a pot of something with a Post-it on it marked “dinner.”

I took off the lid to find what looked like chicken. I wasn’t really hungry.

Just restless.

I took off my jacket and put it over the back of one of my dining room chairs, then headed through the arch to the living room. I emptied my keys, wallet and phone onto the table, stuck my feet up and fired up my laptop.

I launched YouTube and typed in The Chicago Cake Maker. I tapped my finger against the mouse until I could skip the ads. The opening titles were Beth’s greedy mouth in close-up taking a huge bite of cake. Jesus. I knew what else that mouth could do.

The titles cut to Beth standing in a kitchen, smiling into the camera. I grinned back at her. She was a beautiful girl. She was more than that; she was head-turningly stunning. On screen, her beauty was amplified; she was lit up, glowing. The camera loved her. My dick stirred.

I groaned. I should step away from the computer.

Nope, wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to watch her, just stare at her, unashamedly, without her or anyone else knowing.

She started lifting up different ingredients, showing the camera what she was going to be using. I realized I didn’t have the sound turned up. I tapped a few buttons, my eyes not leaving the screen. Her voice, huskier than I was used to, filled the room.

I could practically feel the blood rush to my dick. I placed my palm over my zipper in a half-hearted attempt to control my burgeoning hard-on, but it did anything but calm it. I groaned and pushed my hand down, growing harder with every movement.

Fuck me, two days before I saw her again, had her again, f*cked her again, was beginning to feel like a lifetime.

She put some butter and sugar in a bowl and started to mix. The effort made her cleavage shake. I needed my dick between those tits. I took a deep breath.

The blood pounding against my ears made it difficult to focus on what she was saying, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the screen for a second. I stroked harder and harder, up and down the front of my pants.

Guilt echoed through me. Somehow it felt wrong to be taking pleasure from her when I wasn’t giving anything in return. I didn’t want to be selfish with her. I wanted to give more than take.

I removed my hand and paused the video. I reached for my phone, clicking on the picture I’d taken of her, naked, cross-legged and eating cake. The zipper began to bite into my erection.

Without thinking about consequences, I scrolled through my contacts.

“Hey.” She sounded breathy and sleepy, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad about waking her.

“Were you asleep?” I want to kiss you.

“I’m in bed but not sleeping. Where are you?”

“I’m at home. I’ve just got in.” I want to touch you.

“I was just thinking about you.” She yawned partway through her sentence. I was a selfish bastard calling her this late, but I couldn’t bring myself to end the call.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was wondering about Thursday.”

My hand went back to my still-hard cock. “Tell me.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you. I . . .”

I grinned at her confession. “You, what?”

“No, sorry. I didn’t mean . . . We’ll have fun. If you can make it. It’s no big deal if you have to cancel.”

She thought I’d give up a chance to f*ck her, see her, touch her? “I guarantee I can make it. Do you want me to come to the hotel again?”