"I understand." Her voice is quiet. "But I'm still angry."
"Good. Hold onto that." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip, feeling the wax of her lipstick and the warmth of her breath against my skin. "But right now I need you to look at me. Only me. Can you do that?"
Her chin lifts. Her shoulders pull back. Her blue eyes lock on mine and the tension fades behind a heat that has been building between us since she walked through my elevator doors.
I know because I feel the same burning heat.
"Yes."
I step back, take her hand and walk to the bedroom. The city lights pour through the uncovered windows in pale blue and silver, the same light that painted her body the first night she was in this room. I pull the leather armchair from the corner, the legs dragging across the hardwood with a low scrape. I set it facing the foot of the bed. I sit down, unbutton my cuffs, and roll my sleeves before leaning back. The leather is cool against my arms and the chair creaks under my weight as I settle.
"Come here."
She steps close, backlit by the warm light from the kitchen. The cream sweater, the jeans, the bare feet, the cherry lipstick she put on for Onyx. She watches me from the threshold, reading my posture, reading the chair, reading the distance between us.
"Take off the sweater,tesoro."
A hunger replaces the tension in her eyes.
Her fingers find the hem. She pulls it over her head slowly, the fabric whispering against her skin as it lifts, and her blonde hair tumbles loose across bare shoulders.
No bra. Her breasts are bare, her nipples tightening in the cool air. My hands grip the armrests hard enough that the leather groans under my fingers because if I don't hold onto something I'm going to cross the room and put my mouth on her.
But not yet.
"Jeans."
She unbuttons them, the metal click loud in the quiet room. Slides them down her hips, her thighs, the denim dragging over her skin, and steps out of them. White silk panties cut low to reveal smooth skin just above the dip between her folds.
Fuck. Me.
The sight of her in nothing but white silk and cherry lipstick does something to my cock that I wasn't prepared for.
"Panties,tesoro. Take them off slowly. But don’t smudge the lipstick."
The corner of her brow lifts in defiance but her hands obey my command. "You're very bossy from that chair."
I like the hint of curiosity in her tone. It’s going to make what comes next fun.
"Clause four," I counter.
A breathless laugh escapes her and the sound loosens the tension in my ribs. She steps close enough for me to touch, hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides them down. Steps out. Stands in front of me completely bare, her hair loose around her shoulders, her lips cherry red, the scar on her left forearm catching the pale window light.
Every instinct I have wants me on the street hunting Lorenzo. But she needs me here, and she comes first.
"Wait." I push to my feet, cross to the closet, and come back with the red heels she wore to my door the first night. The cherry leather glows warm in my hands as I set them on the floor in front of her.
She looks down at them. Looks at me. Her eyes glisten but she doesn't cry.
She steps into them. Buckles the ankle straps with fingers that don't shake, the tiny clasps clicking into place against her ankles.
I sit back in the chair.
Sloane Whitmore stands naked in red heels in my bedroom, the city glittering behind her through the floor-to-ceiling windows, moonlight tracing the curves of her shoulders and the dip of her waist and the long line of her legs above cherry leather.
I wasted a decade staring at contracts and legal briefs instead of looking at the woman and that is a loss I am going to spend the rest of this arrangement making up for.
"You're staring," she whispers.