“Yes, boss,” I said.
He chuckled. “Good girl. Think about the shopping.”
The large monitor was already attached to his laptop, and I opened the document for the Smith Dunham detective novel. We'd ended in an interesting place the day before, and damn it if I didn't want to know what would happen next.
It felt like something really huge was going to happen.
We worked on the detective novel for nearly three hours, briefly stopping to eat breakfast and make more tea in the luxury suite's full kitchen. Since I wasn't getting any mileage out of my sexy nightie, I changed into some more comfortable shorts and a T-shirt.
I typed so many words, the pinkie finger on my left hand actually got sore.
In the story, Detective Dunham was going undercover to chase down a lead, and his client Sheri was howling with frustration at being ignored.
As Smith ceased dictation and hovered at my shoulder to review, I rubbed my sweating palms on my shorts and said, “Howling?”
“It's from Smith's point of view here, so that's how he sees her irritating, needy behavior.” He picked up the used tea cups from around the desk and disappeared to the kitchen.
I followed him. “Needy? Really? Have you ever considered making your detective a little less of a buttplug?”
He put the cups into the dishwasher like someone who'd never used a dishwasher.
“Do you think making my main character more accommodating to a woman's needs will sell more books?” He smirked. “Is there some new level beyond Number One on the NYT Bestseller list? Some platinum level I haven't heard of?”
“Nice.” I corrected the arrangement of the haphazardly-placed cups.
“Tori, are we speaking in subtext here? Do you really need me to f**k you that bad?”
“Please. I wouldn't have sex with you right now if you begged.”
He licked his lips. “I could make you come in five minutes.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nice try with the reverse psychology.”
He rubbed his hands over his smoothly-shaved cheeks. “Let's go back to bed and I'll f**k you with my tongue until you're begging for my cock, and even then, I still won't let you have it.”
“No, thanks.”
He shrugged. “Your loss. But just so you know, that's all I can offer. Tongue, hand, or I can watch while you finger yourself. I've got to keep my sexual energy constrained, to drive me through the middle of the book.”
“What?” I looked around for the aliens who had replaced Smith Hornypants Wittingham with a chaste doppelganger.
He took a long stretch, his arms raised high above his head, showing off his sexy bare chest. I'd put on my clothes, to be professional, but he was still wearing the drawstring pants and no shirt. After stretching, he flexed his chest muscles and biceps while admiring himself.
“I am one sexy beast,” he commented. “After I take a nap, I'll put a shirt on so you aren't driven mad with desire for what you cannot have.”
I grabbed for the strings at the waist of his pants, but he jumped back out of my reach.
“Bad redhead.”
With a flirty lilt, I cooed, “Come on, baby, just a quickie. I'll get on top so I won't wear you out.”
I thought for sure he was just playing one of his games with me, but instead of taking me up on my offer, he handed me a credit card and told me to go shopping.
“Buy some sexy toys,” he said. “I'll watch you use them on your naughty ginger kittycat.”
My voice as flat as my mood, I said, “That's romantic.”
He grinned. “Get something pretty to wear to dinner tonight, and we'll try again.” He winced. “Different restaurant this time. I don't think I can go back to the other one.”
“At least I'm not boring.”
“Could you try? Could you try to be boring for just one night?”
We were both grinning now. “I don't think I can.”
“Don't hold back with the credit card,” he said. “I can't spend my fortune all by myself.” He stretched again and started walking toward the bedroom. “Have fun. I'll call down and have the driver waiting around front for you. Have him teach you a few phrases in French. All the people in the shops will speak English, but if you make an effort, they'll think you're as cute as I do.”
I followed him to the bedroom and watched him crawl into the bed for a post-writing nap. I wanted to crawl in beside him, but he did look tired, and I wondered if he'd even slept the night before.
I pulled the blanket up and tucked him in, which seemed to amuse him as much as it confused him.
“You think I'm cute?” I said.
He got his arms free and pulled me down for a kiss. “Very.”
“You're somewhat cute yourself.”
“Says the woman holding my platinum credit card. Surprise, surprise.”
I straightened up with a jolt, my head spinning from the movement. “I don't like you for your stupid money.”
“Would you date a forty-something guy with no job, no house, no prospects? Would a hot, college-educated girl like yourself do such a thing? Just some schlub who works at a sporting goods store?”
“That's preposterous. I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.”
He waved one hand at me. “Have fun shopping with my credit card, Tori.”
Angrily, I turned and stormed out of the bedroom.
I stopped.
Words and ideas were battling inside my mind. I had a feeling, but didn't know how to put it into words.
I came back into the room and stripped off my clothes. Smith didn't say anything as I got dressed to go shopping.
There was something important I needed to say to him, and I'd say it, but first I was going to do exactly as he'd requested. I'd never been to Montreal before, much less shopping in Montreal, and I was going to have fun and spend Smith's money if it killed me.
The driver's name was Claude, and he seemed chipper, practically bouncing as he ran around to let me in the passenger side. He seemed to be the same guy who'd driven me to the hotel the night before, but I hadn't been in a super chatty mood.
Claude had a French accent, which made everything he said sound like he had his lips pulled tight to his teeth, yet it wasn't over the top like the waiter's thick accent.
“Good morn-eeng,” Claude said, his ice-blue eyes attentive.
“It's still morning?”
“It eez 'alf past eleven,” he said solemnly. Claude was a handsome man, with thick, black hair and a gold wedding band. Lucky wife, I thought.
The midday sun was hot on my bare calves. I'd worn the cornflower-blue dress that Smith said matched my eyes, with a pair of dressy flats that wouldn't slow down my shopping. As always, I'd slathered on sunscreen to prevent the production of additional freckles on my pale skin. I usually tried to avoid being out in the middle of the day during the summer, but the sun on my legs felt blissful.