He said, “I told her I wouldn't touch a woman for three months.”
“How long has it been?”
“You don't want to know.”
I didn't. I didn't want to think of him being with anyone but me. I tucked my fingers into the waistband of his jeans. “So it's a bet or something? What happens if you forfeit?”
He shook his head and laughed, then shut his mouth, lips tight. There was no way he was telling me. I wondered what it could be. What could a billionaire have to fear from his own staff member? Grace definitely gave off the lesbian vibe, so I figured it wouldn't be sex with her.
“What about the job offer?” I asked, my eagerness creeping into my voice as desperation. Professional organizing was great work, when you could get it. Lately, I hadn't been getting it that much.
“Let's talk in a few months,” he said, and he kissed me on the forehead.
“That's it?”
He looked straight into my eyes. His were brown-green, hazel I guess, and looked like they were laughing, even when he wasn't. I could just die, looking into those eyes.
“It was nice meeting you, kid,” he said.
“It's Lexie. Lexie Ross.”
He winked at me and started back down the ladder.
“Wait!” I said, leaning out the window.
The tapping came again, at the locked door to the bedroom. I could hear Grace muttering on the other side, about what in heaven's name was I doing in the bathroom for so long.
I lost my balance and nearly tipped right out of the window, but Mr. Thorne caught me. I laughed, embarrassed at my klutziness, and this time, I held onto the window frame.
“Can I have one kiss?” I batted my eyelashes at him.
He seemed to think about this for a few seconds, then slowly approached me. His face was skeptical, like a kid about to eat a new type of vegetable. This did not make me feel very attractive at all.
But then his lips touched mine. He tasted salty and sweet and warm. Our lips fit perfectly together, and then our tongues. I pressed myself toward him, hungry for more contact. My ni**les grazed his chest just before he pulled away.
Huskily, he said, “That's how I get in trouble.”
“I like trouble.”
He grabbed me then, so suddenly I thought for an instant he was falling and pulling me out the window with him. And you know what? I didn't care. Even if we'd been toppling to our death, that kiss was so good, I couldn't let go.
With one hand on the windowsill for balance, his other hand snaked around behind me and grabbed my butt cheeks. He gripped me from underneath, his fingertips sinking into my soft body.
I moaned with pleasure, against his mouth.
I reached down and grabbed for the waistband of his jeans, seeking to unbutton them and let out that divine monster I'd seen twice already. I wanted him in my mouth, my hot, wet mouth.
But he pulled away from me, and he slipped down the ladder, the soles of his shoes banging out his progress away from me.
My hair fell forward, over my shoulders, and I was Rapunzel, the girl in the castle who's so desperate for a man she lets him climb up her hair.
Mr. Thorne could climb up my hair.
He gave me a wave once he reached the ground, and disappeared, off to play gardener again, I guessed.
I moaned and made a fist with one hand, then leaned into it against the wall, pushing my palm against my aching mound. No fair! I felt like pitching a childish fit. I wanted something, and I couldn't have it, and that made me very cranky.
The tapping at the door grew more insistent.
I stopped abusing myself, closed the window, fastened it, and ran to let Grace in.
When I opened the door, she sniffed the air and looked around the room suspiciously.
Did she know he'd been there? Could she tell we'd just had sex—albeit quickly and way too briefly—right there on the carpet?
I coughed into my hand and said, “I must have eaten some bad tacos last night. I just had the worst thing come out of me in the bathroom. The color of it was just so—”
She cut me off with a hand held up, palm toward me, and her expression softened. She stopped sniffing the air, no longer wanting to collect evidence.
“Looks good,” Grace said, nodding at the bed, now pushed into the corner and looking more forlorn than sexy. “I guess you get your bonus after all.”
I practically rubbed my hands together.
“Oh, Grace, I could hug you,” I said.
She gave me a crooked smile. The woman was about fifty, but a hot fifty, and she was the type of woman who appreciated my assets, even if I wasn't into the whole scissoring and carpet-diving scene. Don't get me wrong, ladies are great at kissing, and I'd kiss any woman who asked, but going downtown wasn't on my must-see sensual tourism list.
She pulled out the roll of money, which did make her look more attractive, actually.
“Funny,” she said, “I could have sworn I heard Mr. Thorne's voice in here.”
“I thought he was out on business today.”
She thumbed through the money, and said, matter-of-factly, “There's an extra hundred for your underpants.”
I scratched my head. “Beg pardon? I could have sworn you just said …”
“Not for anything unseemly,” she said, an impish light in her eyes. “For a joke. A practical joke.” She held the money in front of me, teasingly.
I'm sure some girls would have refused the offer, but those were inexpensive panties I had on that day. For a hundred bucks, I could buy a dozen better pairs, so you'd better believe that, as old Grace stood there with the cash, I whipped down my underpants right there on the spot.
I'd had a quick tidy-up in the en suite right after Mr. Thorne, so they weren't gooey or anything, but even so, I felt absolutely filthy. I felt like some cheap prostitute.
And as I took the roll of cash from a leering Grace, I felt even cheaper, but the strangest thing was, I liked it.
With money in my pocket, and a bare-naked whiskerbiscuit, I walked out of that mansion with my head held high.
Outside, I snooped around the grounds for a few minutes, looking for Mr. Thorne in his sexy jeans, but he had been replaced by a portly man with a big mustache. Now that's what a gardener looks like, I thought to myself as I walked out the gates.
Part 2: The Silver Fox
The next day, Suzanne called me with a new job. I sat up straight in my warm bed, and my heart thumped away like mad. The job was for Mr. Thorne! (Or so I hoped.)
Ah, but my excitement was short-lived. It was for a woman whose name had only sounded like Luthor Thorne due to my wishful thinking. The woman's name was Alison Hubert, so clearly my hearing was being extremely optimistic that day.