Page 45 of Turn Me On
“I mean, if you’re decent.” I stride to the orange couch and flop onto it, the ocean behind me.
He laughs softly, a sexy sound. “Depends what you consider decent.”
My dick goes semi-hard in two seconds. “I better check you out to determine if you are, then.”
“You sure you can handle it?” Challenge marks his tone. “My possible indecency?”
Whoa. He’s tangoing more than usual tonight, pushing the line. But I’m not one to back down. “Damn sure.”
“If you insist…” he says, inviting me to insist.
I sit up taller. Maddox loves orders, so I do the decent thing and give him one. “Yes, I insist. Do it now.”
“Only because youdemandednicely,” he says, his voice a raspy taunt, and oh yeah. I’m fully hard now.
Seconds later, the phone rings, and when I answer the video chat, I regret and rejoice. It’s twilight in Los Angeles, and my sexy-as-sin agent is lounging in his pool. He floats on a yellow raft, bobbing gently in the shallow end of a long pool, wearing only black swim trunks. His phone must be sitting in a holder on the deck. Water glistens on his abs, revealing he’s toned and cut. His torso is smooth everywhere.
“Hello, eight-pack,” I say, a rumble in my throat.
With a grin, he lifts a hand, runs it through his wet hair. “I just got home, and I wanted to go for a dip,” he says, as if he needs to explain anything right now.
“Feel free to go for a dip any time of the day or night so long as you call me,” I say, mesmerized.
“I’d be calling a lot,” he says.
“Good,” I say, before considering the implications of that one word and its promise of more of us. I sit up straighter, staring hard at the screen like that will let me crawl into the phone and land in his home, where I can lick every last drop of water from his chest, abs, happy trail. “I want to go for a dip,” I murmur.
His gaze drifts down his body. “So, what’s your verdict, your honor?”
“Verdict?” I can’t think straight with the way he looks.
“Decent or indecent?” he prompts.
My pulse races at the innuendo. He’s kicked things up a notch tonight. At the rooftop party, he was uber professional, in the car ride to my hotel he was friendly, and when we texted, he was caring, but a touch dangerous at times. Tonight, though? He’s full-on flirt, and I am here for it.
I don’t mince words. “You’re too damn decent for me. Take those shorts off and I’ll be better able to judge.”
He laughs lightly, then his smile fades. “Is that just a suggestion?”
Holy shit, he’s fiery. I need to know why. “You doing good? You’re kind of acting like…” I take a beat, trying to put my finger on it. “The night we met.”
Concern flashes in his eyes. “In what way?”
“You’re not holding back so much.”
He scoots up higher on the raft. “I had a successful trip. I’m in a good mood. I guess it wound me up a bit. I’ll stop.”
I hold up a hand. “Don’t stop. I amnotcomplaining.”
“I can be businesslike,” he says, that cool tone returning.
“Whoa. I was just checking in. Making sure you were good. And there’s a whole country between us. Don’t stop,” I say, imploring him. “I like the way you were the night we met.”
“Yeah?” A hint of a smile returns.
I lean closer to the screen. “Maddox, flirt with me,” I command.
A shudder moves down his body. Dear God, this man is responsive.