She stopped in front of the depilatory creams, waxes, and concoctions devoted to aiding in the removal of unwanted hair. As she debated choices on what would work best around her bikini line, Emmylou barreled around the corner.
“There you are. I worried I might find you cooing over baby clothes again.”
“I did that one time and it was a fluke.” She’d hoped for privacy in making this personal grooming choice, but Emmylou gave her none.
“What’re you doin’ down this aisle anyway? This stuff is crap. You want to skin the beaver you go to a professional.”
Amery blushed. “Jesus, Emmylou. You didn’t have to shout that.”
“I didn’t. Why are you embarrassed?” Emmylou pushed her cart closer and peered into Amery’s face. “You’ve never been professionally waxed, plucked, or creamed, have you?”
“No. I can’t imagine spreading my legs and showing my naked feminine bits to a total stranger. I’d die from that much exposure.”
“Sweetie. It’s clinical. No different than goin’ to the doctor.”
“Wrong. I know it seems old-fashioned and ridiculous, but I don’t ever see myself waltzing into a salon and asking some stranger to pour hot wax on my crotch.”
But you had no issue with Ronin pouring hot wax all over your br**sts.
Not the same thing.
Emmylou kissed her forehead. “Darlin’ girl, I’ll never make fun of you for that. But if you really want to try waxing the lady taco, I’ll do it for you at the studio. Takes, like, ten minutes to heat up the wax tank.”
“Since when do you give wax jobs?”
“Since always. Some of the guys who come to me for a massage are apelike hairy. The fur on their backs grosses me out and reminds me why I prefer to eat the banana split rather than the banana.”
“Emmylou!”
She laughed. “I love shockin’ you, sugar. Anyway, it’s easier if I have to do a deep-tissue massage to remove the man pelts beforehand. Word spread among my clients that I’ll wax backs, chests, eyebrows, ears, bellies, and the old twig and berries for an extra fee. I don’t broadcast those services, but I figure I’m doin’ hetero women a favor by secretly providing manscaping for these macho athletes who’d never set foot in a man salon.”
Amery frowned. “But you have waxed women before?”
“I wax myself. I waxed Helena. In fact, I still wax her.”
“Your ex?”
“She hasn’t found anyone who’ll wax her better.” She waggled her eyebrows. “And you don’t need to worry I’ll be scheming ways to take a bite of your naked peach. While I’m sure it’s a pretty pu**y . . . kitty-cat, you’re just too vanilla for me.”
I’m not as vanilla as you think and I’ve got the rope marks to prove it.
Amery just smiled and said, “Probably.”
• • •
WAXING hurt.
Like really f**king hurt.
Even after Amery followed all of Emmylou’s aftercare instructions, she felt too sensitized to spend the night with Ronin. Seeing him wasn’t in the cards because seeing Ronin meant f**king Ronin.
In true Ronin form, he hadn’t demanded an explanation on why she’d canceled. He hadn’t been happy she’d backed out of their dinner plans, but he’d retreated to unflappable Master Black and ended the conversation.
That caused a pang of . . . not sadness, but something she couldn’t put her finger on. Almost as if he didn’t care what she did when he wasn’t f**king her or binding her.
Her acceptance of his kink and the shocking self-discovery that she liked it had intensified their connection when they were alone. Their foray into doing couple things had lasted barely a month. They rarely went out together in public.
Although that wasn’t entirely his fault. Amery had been content to hang out with him in his penthouse. Whenever he showed up at her loft, they were all over each other and fell asleep afterward.
How long had it been since she’d gone out for a drink just because she could? She’d also gotten out of the habit of trying a new restaurant every week.
That’s when she realized she’d thrown herself into this affair with Ronin just as she’d done with Tyler. She’d adjusted her schedule to fit Ronin’s and he’d kept odd hours recently, but when pressed on his nocturnal activities, he’d said, “Business,” and ended the conversation.
She reminded herself of how hard she’d worked to be independent. It’d been a point of pride the past few years that she’d learned to enjoy doing social things alone.
So there was no reason to stay home and mope because she couldn’t see him. She’d dress up and head down to the Bistro. Listen to some light jazz, knock back a Moscow mule, nibble on a plate of bruschetta, partake of Denver’s nightlife for a few hours.
Just as she stepped into the alley, she heard the whirring whine of Ronin’s motorcycle.
He killed the engine and removed his helmet before dismounting from the bike. He dropped his gaze to the toes of her high-heeled boots; then his eyes wandered up her skinny jeans, over her dusty rose lace blouse, and stopped on her face. “Going somewhere?” he asked coolly.
“Ronin—”
“Who are you meeting?”
“No one.”
“Bullshit. You’re dressed to go out. Did you cancel our plans tonight because you received a better offer?”
Amery stomped over to him. “No. And f**k you for thinking so highly of me. I was headed to the Bistro, by myself, to grab some food, a drink, and take an hour to unwind.”
“By yourself,” he repeated.
“Yes. I used to do a lot of things by myself. I realized tonight since I’ve hooked up with you I stopped doing some of the things I used to enjoy.”
“That’s why you didn’t come over? Because you need to prove you’ll be fine going it alone after we’re done hooking up?”
He added a sneering tone to the words hooking up that set her on edge. “You’re taking this completely out of context.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation. Good night, Ronin.” Amery slammed the back door and locked it.
Then she found herself pushed up against the cold steel. Calm, cool, and collected Ronin? Gone.
It boosted her confidence that she could rattle him outside the bedroom. “What?”
“What is going on with you? You never play these games.”