My full moon flashes the little baker girl as I turn my head. I grin, seeing her own sweet smile looking back at me.
Graciously, she holds up a throw blanket. “I always keep one in my car for emergencies. Or naked models strapped for cash.”
“Thanks.” I tug the soft throw around my waist like a makeshift apron and make a knot with the corners as I study her eyes. Their bright blue is offset by a gorgeous blush rising up her cheeks. “My lock isn’t working.”
“Power outage,” she says through a pair of pretty pink lips. “From last night. After you went to sleep.”
“Is that so?” I cock a brow as I give her a grin. “And what time was it that I went to sleep?”
Caught, she looks away, clearing her throat as she ignores my question. “You’ll have to reset it from the app.” Her smile blooms and her gaze drifts to the blanket, my crotch, and undoubtedly my morning wood that’s decided to greet her with a good old-fashioned tent pitching.
“So, you’re here for that photo?” I ask as her eyes snap back to mine.
“What?”
“Kidding.”
She giggles her relief. “I was just admiring your knot.”
“Hmm?” I’ve never heard a cock called that. Then I follow her finger pointing just north and west of my compass, to the two corners of the thin blanket that I tied together.
“A bowline knot, right?”
Suburbia just got more interesting. “Are you a sailor?”
“Just an enthusiast,” she says with a shy shrug. “Need a locksmith? I can call one for you.”
I shake my head, ready to explain I’m good, but she adds, “I know a guy. He can do it right away. No cost.”
“It’s all right,” I say, still processing the no cost comment. “My back door’s unlocked. Wait here one second.”
That burn on my ass is undoubtedly the little baker girl’s eyes as I make my way around the side of my house, the damp grass still managing to crunch beneath my feet.
Zooming through the house, I’m at the front door in under a minute, opening it wide. Her curious eyes peek inside, but she stays where she is.
“Moving out?” she asks, a tinge of disappointment in her tone.
“Hmm?” I look back, realizing just how much I’ve managed to ignore the stacks of unopened boxes scattered throughout the place. “Oh, just . . . moving some things around.”
Her smile relaxes, and she takes half a step inside. An invisible bouquet fills the air as she enters. Nothing overpowering. Just hints of flowers and vanilla that mean she’s close enough to be about two seconds from me losing control.
“Can I make you some coffee?” I ask. “As a thank-you.”
“I’d love some coffee.” Her shapely legs are a few steps inside before she says, “And by coffee, I do mean coffee. Just coffee.”
I shut the door, and she startles.
That little jump does something to me. Makes me feel, I don’t know, protective. Unnerved. Aroused. Whatever it is, this girl just got my undivided attention. Not that her pouty lips weren’t doing that the whole time.
“Just coffee,” I repeat as I head to the Keurig. “Feel free to keep the door open. I’m sure being alone in a house with a half-naked man can be . . .” My cock picks the word for me. “Intimidating.”
Timid, she follows me, pushing bravado through her tone. “Oh, I’m not intimidated. I just didn’t want you thinking you owed me. For the blanket. Or anything. I’m sure a man like you isn’t used to women doing something and expecting nothing in return.”
“It’s like you were with me on my last date.” I’m still pissed at Simone but focus on the coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Hazelnut, cream, and four sugar cubes.” When I pop a brow at her in surprise, she adds, “If it’s not too much trouble.”
I fix the drink with what I have. “You’re SOL on hazelnut, because in case you were wondering, you’re in the home of a guy. But cream and a few shovels of sugar are all yours.”
“Perfect.” She smiles nervously as she accepts the cup and steals a sip. “Listen, I’m not one to tell you how to do your business, but can I make a suggestion?”
“About my business?” I ask, confused. Huh, maybe she knows Coop.
Her expression turns serious, and I get the strange feeling I’m about to have a heart-to-heart with my mother.
“You can definitely do better.”
Wow. She really is my mother. Who’s also clueless, like the rest of my family, that working for Coop isn’t how I make my money.
What can I say? The occasional covert consulting job has proven more lucrative than I’d care to admit. But I indulge her.
“I can?” Leaning an arm on the counter between us, I scan her big blue eyes. They draw me in with their honest expressiveness. “How’s that?”
“Well . . .” She pulls in a breath, shifting her gaze from mine. “I’ve never been one to criticize a guy for aiming high, but come on. A nice guy like you has needs too. Right?”
Like pushing myself inside you until I’m balls deep? Definitely.
“Sure,” I say, not remotely understanding where she’s going with this, but still enjoying the way she bites her lip when she pauses.
“Look, I don’t know how much she’s paying you, but how about you dial down the age range and steer clear of Mrs. Janowitz.”
I’m barely listening, imagining my delectable neighbor’s body clinging to mine like Saran wrap. “Who?” I ask, trying to keep up with the conversation.
“Mrs. Janowitz. The blue-haired biddy you were just soliciting.”
Narrowing my eyes on hers, I draw out the word, making sure I heard her right. “So-li-ci-ting.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not a cop. I am an attorney, but more the corporate kind. Though I could definitely refer you. If you ever got in a bind.”
“Like, the kinky kind that requires an attorney?” I chuckle.
Pouty lips. Gorgeous body. Bookish brains. I’m fucking her right here on the counter if she’s not careful.
A change happens to the color of her eyes that’s subtle, but it’s there. The bright blue shifts several shades to greenish, and the pulse in her throat quickens just a hair.
“And if your schedule has, um, openings, I have a few friends who might be . . . interested,” she says with a bashful grin.
“This feels like entrapment,” I say with a laugh.
Well, if the little baker girl thinks I’m a professional pussy pole, who am I to argue?
“So, you know where I might drum up some business, but you’re, um, asking for a friend?”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean, I really do have friends who could use some male companionship.” She drops her gaze from the entertained penetration of my gaze and drains the last of her coffee from her cup.
“I appreciate the referral.” Patting my ass beneath the thin blanket, I say, “You know, I’m fresh out of business cards. But if you’re going to be my manager, we’ll have to discuss the terms. And make sure I’m covered under attorney-client privilege. Or is it privileges? Or benefits?”
She squirms in place, and I’m soaking in every bit of that rosy pink climbing the skin of her neck and her angelic face.
Her phone buzzes, and in an instant, her demeanor shifts, morphing into seriousness as she reads the text. Regret flashes across her face. “I have to go.”
I nod my understanding, but don’t like the change in her mood. I don’t know why, but I want her smile back. Now.
Losing the grip on my sanity, I can’t resist messing with her. “Don’t forget this.”
Having freed the tight knot, I hold out the blanket, waving it dramatically through the air before extending it to her across the counter. Her shocked response pleases me to no end.
That hint of color rising up her cheeks has deepened a few shades to a positively fuckable blush. Blinking rapidly in shock, she extends her hand.
Taunting her has become my new favorite pastime. “You don’t strike me as the shy type, neighbor.”
“I’m not,” she says with a huff, now covering her eyes with one hand as her other hand blindly chases mine.
We play tag for a minute, and each time her hand grazes the balled-up blanket, I swing it just out of reach.
“I’m trying to respect you,” she says. “I don’t want things getting awkward.”
“We wouldn’t want that. Awkwardness between a cockstitute and his madame.”
Flustered, she gives up, and her eyes finally meet mine. “Keep it, hotshot. Maybe you can play bullfighter with some nice nana’s mouth.”
“But you might need it for the next starving model you come across.”
“I have a feeling naked neighbors only happen once in a full moon,” she says, before exclaiming, “Blue moon. I mean blue moon.”
This woman has the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen, which pout harder when she’s flustered.
Note to self: keep this woman off-kilter at all costs.
Another buzz from her phone steals her attention. Her apologetic eyes lock with mine as she answers with a very professional hello. I give her a solid wink of forgiveness, which she readily accepts by relaxing her shoulders and easing into her call. But I’m not ready to let her completely off the hook. Not yet.
Before she takes her luscious lips, shapely legs, and smoldering strut out the door, my playful toss lands the blanket square over her head, which she wrestles off with a giggle.
“Can you hang on a minute?” she says into the phone before muting the line.
Her eyebrows flatten, but the twinkle in her eyes has a fiery brightness I need to see more of. A lot more of.
“Behave,” she says, scolding me.
“Not my style,” I say, defiant as my gruff voice assures her and I pin her with my stare.
After a minute of watching her squint back, a move that gives her nose an adorable crinkle, we both hear the muffled Are you still there? from the woman on the other end of the line.
My neighbor assaults the phone three times, finally unmuting it to say, “Yes. Yes, I’m still here.”
With our staring contest cut short, she mouths, “Gotta go.”
When I pretend not to understand and cup my ear, she pouts. Mission accomplished.
Her smile returns in spades, and I dismiss her, sweeping my fingers through the air to shoo her away. Flustered, she gives my front door a few vigorous pulls. Though her door and mine are nearly identical, they are hung differently, and it takes her half a second to realize she needs to pull rather than push. Why she opted to have her front door open outward, I’ll never understand.
Casually, I follow and lean my nakedness against the door frame. It’s only when she looks back that she knows I’m watching, wearing nothing more than a wide grin.
This one’s had a better look at me than any woman in months, so fuck it. Enjoy the view, neighbor.
She buckles herself into her car, talking loud to her car’s speakerphone as the convertible top descends. With no other noise than her quiet engine and a few chirping birds in the background, her request for some deposition paperwork by ten this morning sounds more like an ask than a demand, and is infinitely kinder than those same words coming from Simone. With wide eyes, mouth agape, and a shy wave, she drives away.
Amused, I finally close the heavy door, unable to slam shut the notion that I’ll be seeing the little baker girl again. Why does that excite me? No idea, but it does.
What I do know is that after you make a woman your pimp, getting to know her better is no longer an option.