I spend the next hour walking Brooklyn, thinking of ideas as I wait for it to be six p.m. and corner him on his way to the gym.
My dad used to tell me the best thing he could ever give me was an education. I didn’t waste what I could get. Even when they died in the fire at the Las Vegas hotel and I quit college shortly after, I always tried using what education I did get. I went to live with my aunt Cecile, and kept thinking that I would do something with this education my parents had given me.
My first business, at eight, was a lemonade stand. It flopped. Nobody walked down the cul-de-sac where we lived—I had like one customer, total (my mom.) Even then, I always wanted to do something with my time. Something lasting. I wanted security and I knew, after losing my parents, only I could provide it to myself. I tried my hand at everything. But plants died. Even my goldfish died. Still, it didn’t keep me from wanting to put myself out there, create things, do things.
I promised my aunt Cecile that I’d be sure we were comfortable at all times in our lives. Even old age. I was thinking ahead. Unfortunately, my determination didn’t prepare me for failure times a dozen.
I always picked myself straight up by my bootstraps and kept going, though, certain that the wheel of fortune would keep turning and one day, I’d succeed.
It wasn’t until after the store closed, after Mom and Dad passed, that I realized I’d had a natural talent for dressing the mannequins, and later, for mending and revamping my own clothes.
And it wasn’t until after many bad jobs, and a shit-ton of tears, that I realized I wasn’t only good at it, I enjoyed it. And it wasn’t until my aunt Cecile died that I realized…I was in my mid-twenties, a college dropout (I’d had to drop out to take care of my aunt), and should definitely think about doing something about my situation before I turned thirty.
I’m thirty now—and I have no more minutes to spare.
So, at 6 p.m., waiting for my future business partner and investor outside the Christos and Co. building, I rehearse the rest of what else I’m going to say. My pitch, as they say.
Some tag line, some brilliant marketing idea, something the man will find irresistible.
He exits and immediately spots me outside, not once breaking his stride.
“I didn’t realize I’d have an escort.” He removes his jacket and slings his duffel behind his shoulders.
“You’re amusing yourself with me, but that’s not a problem if you give me twenty more minutes to discuss my project,” I say.
His lips begin tugging at the corners then. “I’ll give you an hour if you keep doing a good job amusing me.”
“Goodness,” I exaggerate. “Are you that hard to keep entertained?”
“Hard to please.”
“And I’m pleasing you?”
“Pretty close to that.”
“Hmm.” I bite down on my lip under my top lip, then I notice he’s staring at me. At my mouth.
I let go and exhale, then I jump into the rest of my presentation.
We walk past the woman who asked me for money on my way in, the one I promised to invite to dinner if all went well.
As I explain to Christos why I think this is the best business, best timing, everything, she approaches.
“Did it go well?” she asks, eyes wide with hope.
“Oh, I’m not sure yet.” I glance at my future business partner. “Say yes so I can take her out to dinner,” I order.
“No,” he says sternly, slipping her a bill. “Go to dinner on your own, she’s busy.”
I hope he means to talk to me when he suddenly makes a right turn and disappears into a gym. Ooops. I have to backtrack when I realize I was heading in the wrong direction.
I hurry into the gym after him. He signs in and gives me a stern sideways look, but then he motions me in with a jerk of his chin and scribbles down his signature again. Silently, I walk behind him as he heads into an area of private saunas.
He walks into the changing room, and I almost walk into the door.
I wait nervously outside, then I see him step out in nothing but a tiny towel and a shit ton of muscles, ignoring me as he heads into a large private sauna. I hesitate for a second, then forge ahead and pry the door open, peering in through the smoke.
I hear his voice from the far end. He seems to be the only one here. “If you plan to be here, go change.”
Nodding even though he might not be able to see me through the mist, I head into the women’s changing room.
I undress quickly, wrap a towel around myself, and head back into his sauna.
I walk inside as the door shuts behind me, sealing us in heat and steam. I’m so nervous that I continuously ensure that I’m firmly wrapped in the white towel.
“You’re quite a little bulldozer, aren’t you, Bryn?”
Christos sits on a bench at the far end. His hips still wrapped in a white towel. His eyes gleaming in the misty shadows.
He sounds amused and, though his words are playful, I can see a spark of respect in his gaze. Smoke fills the cabin as I find a place to sit across from his large, barely clad body.
My eyes fall on a large figure shaped by his towel and, with a kick of my heart, I realize what it is.
His cock imprint.
Breathless in an instant, I glance away because that’s not really my business. His cock is not my business. The fact that it is so noticeable and large?
Not my business.
Not my problem.
“I do my best thinking sweating,” he says, leaning back and planting his arms at his sides and Bryn, really! Stop gaping at his tattoo.
I retrieve my gaze as quickly as possible and gaze at the floor. But it’s such a lovely tattoo. Running up his shoulder, spreading out into a part of his pec.
I pat the sweat on my face with a small towel, already breathing hard but trying not to be too obvious.
“I find that very inconvenient,” I huff, patting my face with the small towel again. The towel around my chest sort of loosens a fraction with the movement—and his eyes fall there.
And stay there.
Right on the edge of my towel, where my cleavage is.
His voice is the opposite of silky, rough and low. “Your towel’s on the edge.”
I’m mesmerized by the change in his voice.
And the heavy, lazy-sexy look in his eyes.
“On the edge of what?”
His lips curve. So devilishly my heart skids. He reaches out to tuck the towel back in, his index finger brushing against the top swell of my breast as he does.
I gulp. Hard.
Aaric withdraws his finger.
The air is hot inside the sauna, but no part of my body feels as hot as the part of skin he just touched.
“Thank you,” I breathe as I nervously retuck the towel.
He grins, crosses his arms behind his head. “You’re welcome.”
I exhale, not even knowing where to put my eyes, trying to ignore his magnetic pull. The way the sweat starts to glisten on his chest, coating his tanned skin and muscles.
The steam keeps coming, and Aaric just looks at me.