Page 88 of Double Apex

She takes the last bite of pastry and chews, eyes narrowed. Her tongue darts out to touch one corner of her mouth.

“If you still have the wine,” she says, “I’m pretty sure the horny ‘emoji’ from the elevator would be game to share.”

I can’t resist taunting her.

“And you would have no problem with that—my seducing another woman with the gift you gave me?” I step closer and drop my voice. “Licking the wine from her lips, undressing her, filling her pretty cunt?”

Phaedra freezes, lips parted, brow pinched. “That wouldn’t make me happy, no.”

“Nor I. Which is why I’ve no plans to accept her invitation.” I reposition Phaedra’s braid as an excuse to touch her. “I’ve acceptednoinvitations since you left me in England.”

“Sure, buddy. July thirteenth is the last day you got laid.”

I open my hands in a gesture of honesty.

“Sixteen weeks,” she emphasizes. “For a guy who walks around with puss thrown at him like a perpetual cafeteria food fight. At the very least, I know you must’ve taken that Chilly Willy penguin-ass tramp back to your room.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but the characterization is so delightfully Phaedra that I burst out laughing. I grab her in a spontaneous embrace—arms pinned to her sides—and my laughter trails off into the warmth of her hair.

Bracing her arms between us, she wriggles to escape. “Knock that shit off, Ardelean.”

“My apologies.” I can’t hold back the smile that creeps up.

She gives her T-shirt an indignant swipe as if I’ve wrinkled it. “You smell really good,” she grumbles.

“Phaedra.”

With a huff, she meets my gaze.

“Join me out front in…” I slide my phone from my pocket to check the time. “Forty minutes. I’ve something to show you. If you’re not interested, you are free to walk away.”

Scrunching her mouth to one side, she grants me a tight nod. “Fine.”

She walks to the elevator and prods the button.

My heart aches—she’s so reluctant, it seems there’s little hope of a friendship ever developing. But before the doors open, she pivots back to me with the grumpy smile I treasure.

“This had better be great. Impress me.”

When she comes out the front doors of the hotel, her arms spread in slow motion, as if she’s afraid she’ll faint. She walks toward the car with dreamlike steps, eyes only for this nearly eighteen feet of glossy black, chrome-kissed mid-century beauty.

She puts one hand out, laying it flat on the warm metal as if shyly petting a powerful animal. I watch, hands in my pockets, enjoying her reaction. She throws a lovestruck look over her shoulder at me—though it’s clearly the car she’s fallen for.

“Holy shit! A ’61 Lincoln Continental.” She lifts her arms and drapes herself comically against the passenger-side window and roof with a moan. “Come here, you,” she tells the car. “Have your way with me.”

“O Doamne,” I say with a laugh. “I’d have rented one of these ages ago, had I known it would so enrapture you.”

Her hands glide down to the side-by-side door handles. “Mmm, suicide doors.” She begins a slow walk around the Lincoln, trailing her fingers along the car’s body.

“You like it?”

“I haven’t seen anything this gorgeous since your clothes were on the floor.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I almost laugh—she’s not even flirting. “Can I pop the hood?”

“Anything you like. She’s ours for the next six hours.”

Phaedra looks at me over the top of the car as she opens the driver-side door. “No shit? Oh my God.”

She ducks in and releases the hood then walks to the front to lift it, arms stretched over her head, gazing at the engine as if it’s a banquet. My eyes trace the contours of muscle in her arms and shoulders, the pert swell of her breasts, the womanly curve of her lower belly.

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