Page 32 of Play With Me
Since I was told I couldn’t do any strenuous activity for at least a week—even though I feel perfectly fine—our nights at the club have consisted of him keeping an eye out on the room and me keeping an eye on him, getting jealous every time his eyes linger a little too long on another female.
It hasn’t been my finest week.
I’ve never been one to feel like I need to go overboard to catch a man’s attention. Mick and I happened fast and lasted years before we cooled off, even after he got married. And Luca and I never had any trouble in the attraction department.
Anders has avoided any flirtation or attempt at playfulness all week. He’s been all business. Professional, when all I want is for him to rip my clothes off and fuck me. I found myself resorting to my skimpiest outfits, flirting with other men during the shows—just to see if Anders would stop me from going off with one of them. Doing anything to get his attention when it’s not fully on me.
But he’s been neither hot nor cold. Only lukewarm. When I think things are finally about to heat up between us, it’s almost like he shuts down and drags himself away from my side after making sure Martin or Nikolai have eyes on me.
I don’t beg.
Fuck that.
“Please don’t make me go.” Okay, I beg a little.
“Kate insists you come. Come on, Mellie, there will be loads of potential clients to talk to,” Mick's voice sounds over the speaker of my cell that sits on the edge of my desk.
“Well, ifKate insists,” I mock, making a face at the phone that has Anders struggling to keep quiet while he laughs.
“Carmela,” Mick sighs, “I know it’s shitty of me to ask–”
“You’re fucking right it is, Mick! I don’t want to go to youranniversaryparty. She can’t be serious?” I knew what Mick was talking about all along, but it’s the first time Anders understands the depth of the situation. The smile falls from his face instantly, and his lips curl as he looks at the phone and shakes his head.
“Mellie…”
Leaning back in my chair, I let out a sigh. “Fuck you. I’ll be there.” I look at Anders, who is staring at me with a pointed look and a raised brow. “With a plus one.”
“I’m assuming the detective?”
“No. My new boyfriend.” I almost laugh when Anders’ eyebrows shoot into his hairline.
“Boyfriend?” Mick sputters. It sounds like he spits out a drink with the word because it’s muffled through the speaker.
“Yes. Boyfriend. It’s new. I’m sure that won’t be aproblem?” I don’t give him a chance to respond before singsonging, “Great. See you tomorrow night!”
I end the call and flick the phone away from me. “Fucking seriously.”
“Yeah, I echo those sentiments, but with a question mark at the end,” Anders says flatly. We’re in my office at Désirer. He’s sitting on my sofa, a bunch of papers spread out before him with pages of his notes and photocopies of the letters sent to me.
The killer has been quiet. There have been no more attempted attacks, no more murders, and no letters. Almost like this pretending to date thing is actually working—except Anders is the worst pretend boyfriend in the history of ever.
“You were the one who said to introduce you as my boyfriend. That you weren’t going to leave my side. So, how am I supposed to introduce you to people tomorrow? To Mick’s wife? And I guarantee she’ll want to meet you.”
“She’ll probably be delighted to find that her husband’s mistress has a boyfriend.”
“Stop calling me his mistress. God, you’re such a dick.” I get up and go to my bathroom, which also serves as my changing room.
Thumbing through my outfits, I don’t hear him coming up behind me until he speaks directly into my ear, making me jump. “What will you do when I’m gone? Will you go back to the way things werebefore I got here? Go back to being at his beck and call?”
“I wasn’t at his beck and call,” I argue, but I know it sounds weak.
“Riiiiight.” He backs off a little when I push him away with my shoulder. “So, have you met his wife before?”
Sensing this isn’t a topic he’s going to drop, I turn and hold up two outfits. One is black and consists of lace straps covering only the essential parts; the other is a lacy jacket and shorts set in a dusty rose. Anders points to the jacket and shorts as I say, “Yes, I’ve met Kate plenty of times before. We don’t care for each other, so I don’t understand why she insists I be there. She’s neverinsistedbefore.”
I push him out of the room and close the door, taking my time to change into the outfit. Once I ensure my tits look perfect, my makeup is flawless, and my hair is teased to sex kitten perfection, I emerge and relish the way Anders’ gaze drags up my body.
I track how he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing while he tries to adjust himself without me noticing. I don’t know why it hits me now, just how handsome he is. He’s growing the beard after an offhand comment I made about liking it more. His ever-present California tan highlights the mess of tattoos that twine up both arms and over his shoulders. At nearly forty, and for someone who’s been ondesk duty for the past few years, his body is still in amazing shape.