Sexy As Sin by Julie Kriss

Author:Julie Kriss
Language: eng
Format: epub

Sixteen

Dane

* * *

The video call interrupted me as I was hard at work, bent over my laptop. I blinked and looked around me, realizing that it was already three in the afternoon. Outside, rain had started coming down, running down the windows. How did it get so late?

I answered the call, which was from the concierge downstairs. “Mr. Scotland, you have a delivery.” He said a French word which I recognized as the name of the suit company.

My suits from a few days ago were here. “You can send them up,” I said, adding, “Is anyone with them?”

“Anyone besides the delivery person? No, sir.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

I thanked him and hung up. It was afternoon, I hadn’t seen Ava since yesterday at the pool, she hadn’t called or texted me. She hadn’t come by to help deliver her precious clothes, then make me put them on. I hadn’t heard anything from her at all.

I picked up my phone, scanning it in case I’d missed something. I should have texted or called her, but I’d gotten sucked into work. I texted her now. My suits are here. Where are you?

The app said she read it, but she didn’t reply. Before I could think that through, there was a knock at my door and I let the delivery guy in. When all of the expensive, custom-tailored suits, shirts, dress pants, and ties were delivered, and I had given the guy a tip and let him out again, there was still no answer to my text.

Shit. What had I done?

That was my first thought: that I’d fucked something up somewhere. That session at the pool had been intense. I’d pretty much blanked out with pleasure for most of it. Had I said something to hurt her feelings? Or worse, to freak her out? I thought back, sorting through everything. That brought back the image burned into my brain: Ava pushing my knees apart, kneeling between them, smiling up at me as she yanked down the waist of my swim shorts.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and paced into the kitchen, opening the fridge and slamming it shut again. That blow job had been fucking amazing, it had definitely been Ava’s idea, and I hadn’t said or done anything stupid. Actually, I’d had to refrain from babbling adoring praise at her when it was finished, then offering to do anything she wanted—anything at all.

“It wasn’t the blow job,” I said out loud, my voice a low growl in my silent penthouse. The light was dim as the rain came down harder. I paced to the window and looked out, thinking. If Ava was mad at me, she wouldn’t hide; she would let me know. I’d get a visit, or at least a phone call, in which she gave me hell for whatever stupid thing I’d done. I was sure I hadn’t hurt her feelings, either. Which meant that whatever was happening, her silence wasn’t about me.

If something was bothering Ava, and it wasn’t me, that meant it was something bad.

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