Sweet Spot. Kimberly Kaye TerryЧитать онлайн книгу.
into the situation she was now in. Didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it coming. Or how she was going to get out of it. She knew what she was doing, what she and Adam were doing, was wrong.
Damn. And now this.
Guess a nice set of big fake tits, overprocessed bleached hair, and a tight hoochie-mama dress made Adam forget all about his avowals of love for her.
So yeah. Gaby was definitely in a what the hell kind of mood.
She forced her thoughts away from Adam and his cheating behind and continued to sip her apple martini while listening to Sweet talk to the bartender.
“You sticking around long, this time around?” the woman asked him.
He accepted the glass and leaned against the bar, taking a drink. His strong throat worked as he swallowed, before he set the glass on the smoky gray glass bar counter.
“Haven’t been gone, just busy with other stuff. No plans to go anywhere, anytime soon. Except bed,” he said wearily, his voice a deep sexy rumble. “In fact, I think I’ll head up to the loft and get some shut-eye. I’m tired as hell.”
Gaby covertly ran her eyes over his face and saw the fine lines of fatigue that bracketed his wide, sensual mouth.
Just then he glanced her way and casually looked her over. She swiftly looked away, pretending nonchalance, subtly shifting her legs farther apart, in case he happened to glance down.
“Well, if you need anything—a drink, food, a pillow to rest your poor weary head on—you know where to find me,” the bartender told him and winked one big blue eye and smiled.
Gaby felt the overwhelming desire to throw her half-full glass of martini in the woman’s face, if for no other reason than she was the spitting image of the woman she’d caught screwing her man, hands bound behind her back, having the kind of sex that she never would have imagined Adam was into.
The type of sex that Gaby had secretly been intrigued by, but never had the nerve to engage in.
The woman’s cries of passion still rang in the echoes of her mind.
The bartender leaned down and lifted Sweet’s empty glass. As she did so, her ample breasts pressed against the starched white uniform shirt she was wearing. She had the top three buttons unfastened far enough so that the lacy edge of her demi-bra showed.
Gaby knew the woman wanted Sweet to see just what kind of pillow she was offering for him to lay his “poor weary head on.”
“I’m good. But I’ll keep the offer in mind, Sherri.” He winked back at her.
With one last lingering look at Sweet, the bartender sauntered down to the other end of the bar to serve a customer. Gaby watched Sweet as his eyes stayed glued to Sherri’s swinging hips as she left.
When he turned toward Gaby, she met his eyes.
He smiled and ran his gaze over her body and she knew the minute he saw her bared vulva.
His eyes flew to hers, his sensual lips stretching up into a lazy grin, and she knew she’d gotten his attention.
Pushing down the churning in her gut, Gaby wet her lips and smiled, her lips twitching in nervousness as she tried to maintain what she hoped passed as cool sophistication.
He pushed away from the counter and sauntered close to her.
Gaby kept her smile determinedly in place and maintained eye contact.
When he brushed past her, her heart sank and she felt like a damn fool.
She sighed glumly, turned around, clamped her legs together with a snap, and took another drink of her martini.
“Meet me upstairs, in my loft. Use the elevator near the kitchen entry, past the double doors,” a deep voice whispered against her ear.
Gaby spun around and caught herself before she flipped out of the chair.
“Wha-what?” she stuttered out the response.
“That is, if you’re serious about what you’re promising.”
His heated glance slid over her body like warm rain, his gaze settling between her legs, sending goose bumps to pepper her exposed arms and an ache of need to bubble in her stomach.
Her body reacted as though he’d actually touched her; her breath hitched in her throat and her heartbeat slammed against her chest.
“You’ll need this key to reach my loft. It’s my personal elevator. Past the swinging doors, down the hallway to the left.”
He placed a small brass key into her open hand, folding her fingers over it, pressing it into her palm. Without another word he turned around and walked away.
Just like that, he left, without waiting to see if she’d actually follow him. Assuming that all he needed to do was make the suggestion and she’d eagerly jump up and trail after him.
Gaby’s bemused gaze followed his slow ambling walk until he was out of sight before she turned back around.
When her eyes collided with the bartender—Sherri’s—she caught the woman staring at her with a bemused expression, giving Gaby the universal look women gave one another when a fine man chose one over the other.
A “What in the hell does he see in you?” type of look.
Gaby had been two seconds away from jumping up from her stool and hightailing it out of the bar, getting as far away as possible from the promise of what Sweet wanted to do to her, a promise that had been shining brightly in his golden eyes.
Instead, she gave the woman a triumphant grin and eased out of her chair.
Sedately, despite the butterflies churning in her gut, she slowly walked through the crowded club, following Sweet.
2
“She’s on her way up to my loft.”
There was a pause before the other man spoke. “You don’t waste any time. Do I want to know how you accomplished that so quickly?”
Demetri held his cell phone in one hand and used the other to pull off his jacket and shirt, carefully laying them over the small leather chair in the corner of the room. He then unbuttoned his slacks and shoved them, along with his boxers, down the length of his legs.
“Probably not.”
“Shit.”
He sat down on the chair with the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear and pulled off his shoes and socks before taking off his slacks.
“Yeah, well, you wanted the job done. Do you give a shit how I accomplish it?” he asked.
“No, I guess not. As long as the job gets done.” Another pause before the other man continued, “You’ve decided to take the case, then?”
“Did I have a choice?” Demetri grunted, walking through the open loft.
“There’s always choices, Agent My—”
“Don’t call me that,” Demetri broke in, cutting the man off, mid-sentence.
“Once an agent, always an agent. You can’t escape your past. Can’t hide from it, either.”
“I was a pencil pusher. Before I left, I’d quit fieldwork. If you’re gonna pull the patriotic card, get it right,” Demetri walked, naked, across the room toward the bathroom. “I don’t have a lot of time for small talk, no disrespect, sir. Can we cut this short?”
“Do you have a plan?” The man asked after a pregnant pause.
Demetri loosened his watch and placed it on the bathroom counter, then removed a ring suspended on a gold chain from around his neck.
It was the only other piece of jewelry he wore, one that reminded him of the reasons he no longer felt any desire to