My Killer Vacation by Tessa Bailey

Author:Tessa Bailey [Bailey, Tessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-05T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Myles

I knew Taylor had something up her sleeve.

Not in my wildest imagination did I think it was this.

Across the street from the Sweet Nothings—the most discreet sex toy shop I’ve ever seen in my life—I sit on my bike in the shadows, watching as she casually strolls past the entrance, waiting until she’s alone on the sidewalk, passersby having ducked into the tavern next door. Then she backs up one step at a time, throwing herself into the shop in a blur.

Just like that, she’s in a sex toy boutique. You’ve got to be joking.

Am I pissed? Hell yeah, I’m pissed.

The fact that she would put herself at risk by coming out at night without me means my skin is roughly the temperature of the sun. At least she brought Jude with her. Initially, that gave me some form of relief. But after they parked in the municipal parking lot, they parted ways on the other side of the road. Jude vanished into the tavern and I can see through the window that some fella has already bought him a drink. He’s distracted. Who is with Taylor now? No one, that’s who. And far stranger things have happened than a woman being assaulted or abducted in public. Goddammit.

I get off my bike and start to pace.

It takes me about fifteen seconds to admit that Taylor’s recklessness is only partially to blame for my fevered skin. My sweaty palms and jumpiness.

She wants—needs—an orgasm so bad, she’s risking her neck for it.

And I’m to blame.

That isn’t arrogance talking, although, sue me if it is. I’ve brought her to the brink of climaxing twice without delivering. Thanks to a rogue buoy. Thanks to Jude getting stung by a jellyfish. Sure. But that doesn’t make the facts sit any better. Not at all. She’s horny, I’m the cause, and she’s about to get the relief she needs from somewhere else.

That’s not just a bitter pill to swallow, the damn thing is stuck in my throat.

Yeah.

Yeah, I don’t think I’m capable of letting this happen. I’m just not. I’m sure this makes me an intrusive bastard, but I can’t fucking stand the idea of her sailing over the edge with some piece of silicone when I’m the one who drove her there. Created the need in the first place. Until now, I was using the fact that we haven’t had sex to console myself, as agonizing as it has been to maintain that boundary—one that I’ve almost crossed twice now. As long as we don’t have sex, I’m focused. As long as I’m not sleeping with her, I can maintain my professionalism and objectivity. Right?

Yeah.

Only…Taylor’s pleasure coming from anywhere but me makes me want to kick a hole through the plate glass window advertising lingerie, massagers and aromatherapy in gold script. What is she picking out in there? Will I be able to stand by while she drives home with her purchase and uses it to get herself off?

Nope.

No way in hell.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, preparing to stride across the side street.

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