I could feel myself getting pissed all over again.
Nilla had even been desperate enough to step in as a cat sitter for me, but being the asshole that he was, my cat had chased her off from that job.
She shook her head at me, eyes full of annoyance and exhaustion. “Did you have to?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “That’s what made it so fun.”
“Maybe once in a while, you could think of how this is all going to fall back on your poor assistant. Worse, I feel like this is just going to wind up as ammunition for that insane ex of yours.”
I sighed. Nilla was probably right, but I didn’t particularly feel like dealing with it at the moment. “I’m sure you’ll—” I cut myself off when I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall from the way I’d just come. Nilla threw up her hands in frustration and stormed off, already fielding another call as she did.
When I turned to look toward the approaching footsteps, I saw a ridiculously short woman coming my way. She could’ve barely been above five feet. She was glistening with a sheen of sweat, and her dark brown hair, which was dyed blue at the tips, was sticking to her forehead.
I frowned, trying to take in the sight and make sense of it. She looked like she was coming straight for me. And with purpose.
I was about midway through a theory that she was possibly someone from the crowd I’d just pissed off when she reached me and slapped me right across the face. I admired her technique, considering she was slapping way above her height and still made solid contact.
I took the blow, then tilted my head at her. “Do I know you?” I asked.
She was breathing heavy, either from exertion or from emotion. Maybe both. Her almond eyes were just slightly upturned, and she had a soft, pale complexion except for the patches of uneven red that were staining her cheeks.
“And did I interrupt your workout?” I asked, grinning despite my general annoyance these days and the fact that she’d just slapped me.
“Do you know how fast I walked to get a good seat for that?”
I looked at her, noting the hint of sweat on her clothes, too. She was wearing a dark green dress that made no secret of the killer body she had beneath. It wasn’t a gym sculpted body, but she had generous curves in all the places that mattered. I dragged my eyes away, even though I was enjoying the view. I had enough shit on my plate without trying to get tangled up with a woman. “It looks like you walked quite fast,” I said.
“Yeah, asshole. I did. And how do you guess I feel about that decision after that turd of a speech you gave?”
I grinned. I had to admit, I liked the way she spoke. It wasn’t just the refreshing way she seemed to say exactly what she was thinking. There was something in her features. Maybe it was a note of defiance, or maybe it was something else. Either way, she intrigued me. “I imagine you were not pleased.”
“No shit,” she blurted. “What the hell was that?”
“It’s me doing my best to teach my publisher not to schedule me for this kind of thing. I’ve got no interest in motivating other authors. I just want to write.”
She folded her arms, studying me. It gave me a chance to more fully admire how attractive she was. It was a kind of pretty that didn’t immediately jump out. I could’ve passed her on the street and maybe not even taken a second glance. But the more I stood there watching her, the more I was becoming convinced that I needed to get a taste of her before I let her go. I watched her mouth, admiring the way her upper lip was slightly larger than her lower lip. It made me want to kiss her—to find out if she’d look as defiant while she moaned for me.
I was ready for her to call me a selfish asshole for what I’d said. I’d deserve it, obviously. Because that’s exactly what I was.
“I’m not sorry I read your book,” she said finally. “But I am sorry I met you.”
“I could fix that,” I said, taking a step closer. We’d been standing a comfortable distance apart, but now I was inside her space. I could smell her scent, and it instantly made my dick stiffen.
“Uh,” she said, visibly swallowing. “I don’t think an autograph would do the trick.”
“I’m not offering an autograph.”
She stared up at me. Suddenly, all the confidence she’d been waving around a moment ago had dried up in a puff of smoke. She looked more delicate. Breakable. Like something I needed to be careful with. “What are you offering, exactly?”
“You and I in that room over there,” I said, pointing. “No attachments. No promises. Just the one encounter and then we go our separate ways, but I can promise you this. You won’t regret meeting me afterwards.”
I didn’t wait for her to respond. I turned and walked to the nearby room. They’d given me a room to use between speaking events, and I knew it’d be all ours for as long as we wanted. I didn’t want to admit how badly I hoped she’d take me up on my offer.
I went into the room, left the door ajar, and waited impatiently to see if she was going to follow.
3
Kenzie
Holy.
Shit.
I’d like to say I was no prude. In fact, I’d watched all of Bridgerton and never once fast-forwarded through a sex scene. I’d even rewound a few times to enjoy the Duke’s glorious buns. Hell, I even had a one-night stand once. Of course, I was kinda thinking of it more like a romantic situation where an instant connection leads to sex and then a relationship would follow. Instead, it had been more like a night of uninspired sex followed by the guy doing his best impersonation of Patrick Swayze in Ghost.
Scratch that. He hadn’t even erotically helped me turn a pot out of clay. He’d just vanished into thin air.
But Sebastian Freaking St. James had let me slap him, admitted to being a selfish prick, then… told me he wanted to have sex with me?
It wasn’t even reverse psychology. Maybe reverse psychopathy was more accurate. So why the hell was it working so well on me?
I felt like a monkey trying to fit a square peg into a circle shaped hole as I attempted to make sense of it all. Me? Why the hell would a guy like that want to sleep with me? And especially after the way I’d come out guns blazing and basically yelled at him?
But I realized those weren’t the questions I needed to be asking. The only important question was whether I actually wanted to do this.
I was a grown ass woman. Sex didn’t have to mean something. Sometimes, sex could just mean being attracted to somebody and wondering if it’d feel nice to have their penis inside you, right?
I blew out a deep breath, then shook out my hands like I was getting ready to take on a prizefighter.
“Shoot first, ask question later, right, Kenzie?” I asked aloud. Except I was usually more of a shoot BB guns and ask questions later kind of girl, if I was being honest. This was like shooting a rocket launcher at a crowded bus full of nuns and asking questions later.
Fuck it, I thought.
Fuck him, I added, in honor of my dad, who loved nothing more than a good dad joke. And then I imagined my dad groaning in disgust at what I’d just imaginarily dragged him into.
I headed for the room, heart pounding out of my chest. I wasn’t going to deny he was easily the sexiest piece of man I’d ever seen on two legs. I may not like him, but it was like he said. No questions asked. Just a little meaningless fling. And what was the worst that could happen? I had pepper spray in my purse.