Page 15 of Turn Me On
“I’m your best bet. So, I ask again, why shave post-shower instead of, oh, say, during the fucking shower itself? That just makes sense, man. Are you aware of the existence of mirrors for showers?”
I reach for my aftershave from the medicine cabinet. “Yes. Are you aware of the existence of other houses to live in?” I ask my guest.
“Ouch. Stab me in my free-loading heart.”
I laugh. Bryan knows he’s welcome to stay here until he closes on his new home. “Anyway,” I say, as I slap on some aftershave, “now you know my dirty little secret. Besides, I have my reasons. It’s good practice.”
My buddy arches a brow. “Fine. I’ll bite. Practice for what?”
A smirk curves my lips as I set the bottle back in the cabinet. “Some men find it fuck hot—a guy with a towel slung low on his waist, concentrating intensely as he uses a steady hand to shave precisely. Carefully. Patiently,” I say, painting a favorite picture. “And one day, some guy will wake up here in the morning—not you—and he’ll stroll across the bedroom then stop short, unable to look away as I shave.”
Bryan nods thoughtfully as he finishes the banana. “Fair enough. You get an exemption from the Guy Code on account of a damn fine answer. Also, nice fantasy you have going there in your dirty little mind, Maddox,” he says, turning down the hall toward the kitchen.
Please.That’s tame as far as my fantasies go. My head’s an adult amusement park some nights.
Some days too.
But not today.
Today, it must be a kiddy park up here.
As I head into my bedroom, I check the time. It’s ten-fifteen, and I’ve been working here at home since six. Now it’s time to look the part for the client. I get dressed quickly, putting on crisp slacks and a tailored, charcoal-gray shirt, then consider my tie rack. I run my finger across the silk of the purple one, the emerald one, the sapphire one…
Then finally, the burgundy tie. I linger on it, grazing my fingers down the fabric.
I wore this two weeks ago, the night I met Zane at a hotel bar in San Francisco. His first words to me werenice tie.
Sparks crackled down my spine, and instantly, I knew what he wanted to do with this damn piece of fabric, and with me. Knew, too, how compatible we were. Our attraction flared hot and fast, and we both desperately wanted the same thing—to leave the bar together.
That was before my boss, Vance, introduced me to Zane as one of the athlete’s new agents. Before we sat together for an awkward but important business dinner. Before we kissed clandestinely in an elevator.
As I revisit that night, a flash of heat rushes down my chest, going straight to my dick.
I shake my head. Best to go tie-less today.
With that decided, I grab some shoes and set them by the door, then I shut the closet, walk to my bureau, and grab my watch. Once I snap on the swank Victoire timepiece, I adjust the cuffs on my shirt and check my reflection in the closet mirror.
Professional. Smart. Savvy.
And in control.
That’s the image I want to project for Zane Archer. He needs to see me as his newest agent, a vital team member for his career, and a business partner he can trust implicitly.
Not as the guy he wants to fuck.
But professional me really likes ties and the power they bring to a man’s look. They’re a finishing touch for the kind of job I’m lucky to have—a job as a dealmaker. With a sigh, I give in to my own fashion tastes, returning to my closet for the sapphire one.
Blue is for trust. I want him to trust me.
After I loop the silk material around my neck, I grab my shoes, then head through the kitchen where Bryan’s pacing as he talks on the phone. Something about beams and permits. He stops, tells the caller to hold, then looks me up and down.
“You have a date at ten-forty?”
I scoff, pointing to my clothes. “This is how I dress for work.”
He shoots me a doubtful look. “You always shave before a date with a guy you really like,” he says, pointing to my face.
Ah, fuck. I should never have told him the story of my last heartache. But who do you tell your sad stories if not your friends? Still, he’s dead wrong.